I 


THE 

FAITH    DOC TOE 

A   STOUT  OF  NEW  YORK 


BY 

EDWARD  EGGLESTON 

AUTHOR  OF   THE   HOOSIER    SCHOOLMASTER,    ROXY,    ETC. 


THIRD   EDITION 


NEW   YORK 
D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

1891 


COPYRIGHT,  1891, 
BY  EDWARD   EGGLESTON. 


All  rights  reserved. 


)        I 

:? 


PEEFACE. 


THOUGH  there  is  no  life  that  I  know  more  intimately 
and  none  that  I  have  known  for  so  long  a  period  as  that 
of  New  York,  the  present  story  is  the  first  in  which  I  have 
essayed  to  depict  phases  of  the  complex  society  of  the 
metropolis.  I  use  the  word  society  in  its  general,  not  in 
its  narrow  sense,  for  in  no  country  has  the  merely  "  so 
ciety  novel "  less  reason  for  being  than  in  ours. 

The  prevailing  interest  in  mind -cure,  faith -cure, 
Christian  science,  and  other  sorts  of  aerial  therapeutics 
has  supplied  a  motive  for  this  story,  and  it  is  only 
proper  that  I  should  feel  a  certain  gratitude  to  the  ad 
vocates  of  the  new  philosophy.  But  the  primary  pur 
pose  of  this  novel  is  artistic,  not  polemical.  The  hook 
was  not  written  to  depreciate  anybody's  valued  delu 
sions,  but  to  make  a  study  of  human  nature  under  cer 
tain  modern  conditions.  In  one  age  men  cure  diseases 
by  potable  gold  and  strengthen  their  faith  by  a  belief  in 
witches,  in  another  they  substitute  animal  magnetism  and 
adventism.  Within  the  memory  of  those  of  us  who  are 
not  yet  old,  the  religious  fervor  of  millenarianism  and  the 
imitation  science  of  curative  mesmerism  gave  way  to 
spirit-rappings  and  clairvoyant  medical  treatment.  Now 
spiritism  in  all  its  forms  is  passing  into  decay,  only  to 

M5OS274 


4  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

leave  the  field  free  to  mind-doctors  and  faith-healers. 
There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait  for  the  middle  ages 
to  pass;  when  modern  times  arrive,  there  will  be  more 
criticism  and  less  credulity,  let  us  hope. 

The  propositions  put  into  the  mouth  of  Miss  Bowyer, 
though  they  sound  like  burlesque,  are  taken  almost  ver 
batim  from  the  writings  of  those  who  claim  to  be  ex 
pounders  of  Christian  science.  While  Miss  Bowyer  was 
drawn  more  closely  from  an  original  than  is  usual  in 
fictitious  writing,  I  am  well  aware  that  there  are  profess 
ors  of  Christian  science  much  superior  to  her.  There  are, 
indeed,  souls  who  are  the  victims  of  their  own  generous 
enthusiasm;  and  it  grieves  me  that,  in  treating  the  sub 
ject  with  fidelity  and  artistic  truthfulness,  I  must  give 
pain  to  many  of  the  best — to  some  whose  friendship  I 
hold  dear. 

For  the  idea  of  a  novel  on  the  present  theme  I  am  in 
debted  to  an  unpublished  short  story  entitled  An  Irregu 
lar  Practitioner,  by  Miss  Anne  Steger  Winston,  which 
came  under  my  eye  three  or  four  years  ago.  I  secured 
the  transfer  to  me  of  Miss  Winston's  rights  in  the  subject, 
and,  though  I  have  not  followed  the  lines  of  her  story,  it 
gives  me  pleasure  to  acknowledge  my  obligation  to  her 
for  the  suggestion  of  a  motive  without  which  this  novel 
would  not  have  had  existence. 

For  the  comfort  of  the  reader,  let  me  add  that  the 
name  Phillida  should  be  accented  on  the  first  syllable, 
and  pronounced  with  the  second  vowel  short. 

JOSHUA'S  ROCK  ON  LAKE  GEORGE,  September,  1891. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAOE 

I.  THE  ORIGIN  OF  A  MAN  OF  FASHION    ....  7 

II.  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  SOCIETY  MAN    ....  19 

III.  A  SPONTANEOUS  PEDIGREE 29 

IV.  THE  BANK  OF  MANHADOES 37 

V.  THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  HILBROUGHS     ....  55 

VI.  PHILLIDA  CALLENDER 69 

VII.  THE  LION  SOIREE 91 

VIII.  IN  AVENUE  C 110 

IX.  WASHINGTON  SQUARE  AND  ELSEWHERE        .        .        .120 

X.  BROKEN  RESOLVES 132 

XL  IN  THE  PARK 144 

XII.  PHILIP 155 

XIII.  MRS.  FRANKLAND 162 

XIV.  MRS.  FRANKLAND  AND  PHILLIDA 176 

XV.  Two  WAYS 185 

XVI.  A  SEANCE  AT  MRS.  VAN  HORNE'S        .        .        .        .193 

XVII.  A  FAITH  CURE 201 

XVIII.  FAITH-DOCTOR  AND  LOVER 208 

XIX.  PROOF  POSITIVE 213 

XX.  DIVISIONS 225 

XXI.  MRS.  HILBROUGH'S  INFORMATION 232 

XXII.  WINTER  STRAWBERRIES 242 

XXIII.  A  SHINING  EXAMPLE 249 

XXIV.  THE  PARTING 256 

XXV.  MRS.  FRANKLAND'S  REPENTANCE 266 

XXVI.  ELEANOR  ARABELLA  BOWYER                                        ,  280 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVII.  A  BAD  CASE                             .        .        .        .        .294 
XXVIII.  DR.  BESWICK'S  OPINION 302 

XXIX.    MlLLARD  AND   RUDOLPH 314 

XXX.  PHILLIDA  AND  PHILIP 321 

XXXI.  A  CASE  OF  BELIEF  IN  DIPHTHERIA        .        .        .  332 

XXXII.  FACE  TO  FACE 345 

XXXIII.  A  FAMOUS  VICTORY 352 

XXXIV.  DOCTORS  AND  LOVERS 3G4 

XXXV.  PHILLIDA  AND  HER  FRIENDS 374 

XXXVI.  MRS.  BESWICK 333 

XXXVII.  DR.  GUNSTONE'S  DIAGNOSIS     .        .        .        .        .388 

XXXVIII.  PHILIP'S  CONFESSION 393 

XXXIX.  PHILIP  IMPROVES  AN  OPPORTUNITY  ....    407 

XL.  THE  RESTORATION 415 

XLI.  As  YOU  LIKE  IT.        ...  ,    422 


THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 


i 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  A  MAN   OP  FASHION. 

IT  was  the  opinion  of  a  good  many  people  that  Charles 
Millard  was  "  something  of  a  dude."  But  such  terms  are 
merely  relative;  every  fairly  dressed  man  is  a  dude  to 
somebody.  There  are  communities  in  this  free  land  of 
ours  in  which  the  wearing  of  a  coat  at  dinner  is  a  most 
disreputable  mark  of  dudism. 

That  Charles  Millard  was  accounted  a  dude  was 
partly  Nature's  fault.  If  not  handsome,  he  was  at  least 
fine-looking,  and  what  connoisseurs  in  human  exteriors 
call  stylish.  Put  him  into  a  shad-bellied  drab  and  he 
would  still  have  retained  traces  of  dudishness ;  a  Chatham 
street  outfit  could  hardly  have  unduded  him.  With  eyes 
so  luminous  and  expressive  in  a  face  so  masculine,  with 
shoulders  so  well  carried,  a  chest  so  deep,  and  legs  so  per 
fectly  proportioned  and  so  free  from  any  deviation  from 
the  true  line  of  support,  Millard  had  temptations  to  culti 
vate  natural  gifts. 

There  was  a  notion  prevalent  among  Millard's  ac 
quaintances  that  one  so  versed  in  the  lore  and  so  deft 


8  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

in  the  arts  of  society  must  belong  to  a  family  of  long 
standing ;  the  opinion  was  held,  indeed,  by  pretty  much 
everybody  except  Millard  himself.  His  acquaintance 
with  people  of  distinction,  and  his  ready  access  to  what 
ever  was  deemed  desirable  in  New  York,  were  thought 
to  indicate  some  hereditary  patent  to  social  privilege. 
Millard  had,  indeed,  lines  of  ancestors  as  long  as  the 
longest,  and,  so  far  as  they  could  be  traced,  his  fore 
fathers  were  honest  and  industrious  people,  mostly  farm 
ers.  Nor  were  they  without  distinction :  one  of  his 
grandfathers  enjoyed  for  years  the  felicity  of  writing 
"J.  P."  after  his  name;  another  is  remembered  as  an 
elder  in  the  little  Dutch  Reformed  Church  at  Hamburg 
Four  Corners.  But  Charley  Millard  did  not  boast  of 
these  lights  of  his  family,  who  would  hardly  have  availed 
him  in  New  York.  Nor  did  he  boast  of  anything,  in 
deed  ;  his  taste  was  too  fastidious  for  self-assertion  of  the 
barefaced  sort.  But  if  people  persisted  in  fitting  him  out 
with  an  imaginary  pedigree,  just  to  please  their  own  sense 
of  congruity,  why  should  he  feel  obliged  to  object  to  an 
amusement  so  harmless  ? 

Charles  Millard  was  the  son  of  a  farmer  who  lived 
near  the  village  of  Cappadocia  in  the  State  of  New  York. 
When  Charley  was  but  twelve  years  old  his  father  sold 
his  farm  and  then  held  what  was  called  in  the  country 
a  "  vendoo,"  at  which  he  sold  "  by  public,  outcry  "  his 
horses,  cows,  plows,  and  pigs.  With  his  capital  thus  re 
leased  he  bought  a  miscellaneous  store  in  the  village,  in 
order  that  his  boys  "  might  have  a  better  chance  in  the 
world."  This  change  was  brought  about  bv  the  discov- 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  A  MAN  OF  FASHION.  9 

ery  on  the  part  of  Charley's  father  that  his  brother,  a 
commission  merchant  in  New  York,  "  made  more  in  a 
week  than  a  farmer  could  make  in  a  year."  From  this 
time  Charley,  when  not  in  school,  busied  himself  behind 
the  counter,  or  in  sweeping  out  the  store,  with  no  other 
feeling  than  that  sweeping  store,  measuring  calico,  and 
drawing  molasses  were  employments  more  congenial  to 
his  tastes  and  less  hard  on  good  clothe?  than  hoeing  pota 
toes  or  picking  hops.  Two  years  after  his  removal  to  the 
village  the  father  of  Charley  Millard  died,  and  the  store, 
which  had  not  been  very  successful,  was  sold  to  another. 
Charley  left  the  counter  to  take  a  course  in  the  high 
school,  doing  odd  jobs  in  the  mean  while. 

When  young  Millard  was  eighteen  years  old  he  came 
into  what  was  a  great  fortune  in  village  eyes.  His 
father's  more  fortunate  brother,  who  had  amassed  money 
as  a  dealer  in  country  produce  in  Washington  street,  New 
York,  died,  leaving  the  profits  of  all  his  years  of  toil  over 
eggs  and  butter,  Bermuda  potatoes  and  baskets  of  early 
tomatoes,  to  his  two  nephews,  Charley  Millard  and  Char 
ley's  elder  brother,  Richard.  After  the  lawyers,  the  sur 
rogate,  the  executor,  and  the  others  had  taken  each  his 
due  allowance  out  of  it,  there  may  have  been  fifty  or 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars  apiece  left  for  the  two 
young  men.  Just  how  much  it  was  the  village  people 
never  knew,  for  Charley  was  not  prone  to  talk  of  his  own 
affairs,  and  Dick  spent  his  share  before  he  fairly  had 
time  to  calculate  what  it  amounted  to.  When  Richard 
had  seen  the  last  of  his  money,  and  found  himself 
troubled  by  small  debts,  he  simplified  matters  by  exe- 


10     .  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

cuting  a  "mysterious  disappearance,"  dropping  out  of 
sight  of  his  old  associates  as  effectually  as  though  he  had 
slipped  into  some  cosmical  crack.  Charley,  though  nom 
inally  subject  to  a  guardian,  managed  his  own  affairs, 
husbanded  his  money,  paid  Dick's  debts,  and  contrived  to 
take  up  the  bank  stock  and  other  profitable  securities 
that  his  brother  had  hypothecated.  He  lived  with  his 
mother  till  she  died,  and  then  he  found  himself  at 
twenty-one  with  money  enough  to  keep  him  at  ease,  and 
with  no  family  duty  but  that  which  his  mother  had  laid 
upon  him  of  finding  the  recreant  Dick  if  possible,  and 
helping  him  to  some  reputable  employment — again  if 
possible. 

In  Cappadocia  Charley's  little  fortune  made  him  the 
beau  of  the  town ;  the  "great  catch,"  in  the  slang  phrase 
of  the  little  society  of  the  village— a  society  in  which 
there  were  no  events  worth  reckoning  but  betrothals  and 
weddings.  In  such  a  place  leisure  is  productive  of  little 
except  ennui.  To  get  some  relief  from  the  fatigue  of 
moving  around  a  circle  so  small,  and  to  look  after  his  in 
vestments,  Charley  made  a  visit  to  New  York  a  month 
after  the  death  of  his  mother.  His  affection  for  his 
mother  was  too  fresh  for  him  to  neglect  her  sister,  who 
was  the  wife  of  a  mechanic  living  in  Avenue  C.  He 
would  have  preferred  to  go  to  a  hotel,  but  he  took  up  his 
abode  dutifully  in  his  aunt's  half  of  a  floor  in  Avenue  C, 
where  the  family  compressed  themselves  into  more  than 
their  usual  density  to  give  him  a  very  small  room  to  him 
self.  His  Aunt  Hannah  did  her  best  to  make  him  com 
fortable,  preparing  for  him  the  first  day  a  clam  chowder, 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  A  MAN  OF  FASHION.  H 

which  delicacy  Charley,  being  an  inlander,  could  not  eat. 
His  cup  of  green  tea  she  took  pains  to  serve  to  him  hot 
from  the  stove  at  his  elbow.  But  he  won  the  affection 
of  the  children  with  little  presents,  and  made  his  aunt 
happy  by  letting  her  take  him  to  see  Central  Park  and 
the  animals. 

As  seen  in  the  narrow  apartment  of  his  Aunt  Han 
nah  Martin,  life  in  the  metropolis  appeared  vastly  more 
pinched  and  sordid  than  it  did  in  the  cottages  at  Cap- 
padocia.  How  the  family  contrived  to  endure  living  in 
relations  so  constant  and  intimate  with  the  cooking  stove 
and  the  feather  beds  Charley  could  not  understand.  But 
the  spectacle  of  the  streets  brought  to  him  notions  of  a 
life  greatly  broader  and  more  cultivated  and  inconceiva 
bly  more  luxurious  than  the  best  in  Cappadocia. 

The  third  day  after  his  arrival  he  called  at  the  Bank 
of  Manhadoes,  in  which  the  greater  part  of  his  uncle's 
savings  had  been  invested,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
the  officers  in  control,  and  to  have  transferred  to  his 
own  name  the  shares  which  his  brother  had  hypothe 
cated.  He  was  very  cordially  received  by  Farnsworth,  the 
cashier,  who  took  him  into  the  inner  office  and  intro 
duced  him  to  the  president  of  the  bank,  Mr.  Masters. 
The  president  showed  Charley  marked  attention ;  he  was 
very  sensible  of  the  voting  importance  of  so  considerable 
a  block  of  stock  as  Charley  held,  now  that  he  had  ac 
quired  all  that  was  his  uncle's.  Masters  was  sorry  that 
his  family  was  out  of  town,  he  would  have  been  pleased 
to  have  Mr.  Millard  dine  with  him.  Would  Mr.  Mil- 
lard  be  in  town  long?  Dining  with  a  New  York  bank 


12  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

president  would  have  been  a  novel  experience  for  young 
Millard,  but  he  felt  obliged  to  go  home  the  last  of  the 
week.  Not  that  there  was  anything  of  pleasure  or  duty 
to  render  his  return  to  Cappadocia  imperative  or  desira 
ble,  but  the  pressure  he  was  daily  putting  on  his  aunt's 
hospitality  was  too  great  to  be  prolonged,  and  the  discom 
fort  of  his  situation  in  Avenue  C  was  too  much  for  a  fas 
tidious  man  to  endure. 

Though  his  return  to  Cappadocia  made  a  ripple  of 
talk  among  the  young  women  of  the  village,  to  whom  he 
was  at  least  a  most  interesting  theme  for  gossip,  he  found 
the  place  duller  than  ever.  His  mind  reverted  to  the 
great,  dazzling  spectacle  of  the  thronged  streets  of  the 
metropolis,  with  their  unceasing  processions  of  eager  peo 
ple.  Since  he  had  all  the  world  to  choose  from,  why  not 
live  in  New  York?  But  he  did  not  care  to  go  to  the  city 
to  be  idle.  He  liked  employment,  and  he  preferred  to 
earn  something,  though  he  had  no  relish  for  speculation, 
nor  even  any  desire  to  run  the  risks  of  trade.  But  he 
thought  that  if  he  could  contrive  to  make  enough  to  pay 
a  portion  of  his  own  expenses,  so  as  to  add  the  greater 
part  of  each  year's  dividends  to  his  principal,  such  cau 
tious  proceeding  would  entirely  suit  his  prudent  tempera 
ment  and  content  his  moderate  ambition.  After  taking 
time  to  revolve  the  matter  carefully,  he  wrote  to  the 
obliging  Mr.  Masters,  suggesting  that  he  would  like  to 
secure  some  position  in  the  bank.  The  letter  came  at 
an  opportune  moment.  A  considerable  number  of  the 
stockholders  were  opposed  to  the  president  in  regard  to 
the  general  policy  to  be  pursued.  The  opposition  was 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  A  MAN  OF  FASHION.  13 

strong  enough  to  give  Masters  some  anxiety.  What  was 
known  as  "  the  Millard  stock "  had  been  held  neutral 
in  consequence  of  Charley's  minority.  If  now  Masters 
could  attach  this  young  shareholder  to  himself,  it  would 
be  a  positive  gain  to  the  administration  party  in  the 
stockholders'  meetings,  and  indeed  it  would  put  the  op 
position  beyond  any  chance  of  doing  much  mischief. 

When  Masters  got  the  letter  Farnsworth,  the  cashier, 
was  called  into  his  room.  But  Farns worth  could  not  give 
him  any  information  about  Millard's  character  or  ca 
pacities.  That  he  would  not  do  without  special  training 
for  a  teller  or  bookkeeper  was  too  evident  to  require  dis 
cussion.  All  that  could  be  said  of  him  at  first  glance 
was  that  he  wrote  a  good  hand  and  composed  a  letter 
with  intelligence.  He  might  be  made  of  assistance  to 
the  cashier  if  he  should  prove  to  be  a  man  of  regular 
habits  and  application.  What  Masters  wrote  in  reply 
was :  "  We  should  be  most  happy  to  have  the  nephew  and 
heir  of  one  of  our  founders  in  the  bank.  At  present  we 
have  no  vacancy  suitable  to  you  ;  for,  of  course,  a  man  of 
your  position  ought  not  to  be  assigned  to  one  of  the 
lowest  clerkships.  But  if  an  opportunity  to  meet  your 
wishes  should  arise  in  the  future  we  will  let  you  know." 

It  was  only  after  some  years'  experience  in  the  bank 
that  Millard,  in  looking  over  this  letter,  was  able  to  con 
jecture  its  real  significance.  Then  he  knew  that  when 
that  letter  went  out  of  the  bank  addressed  to  him  at  Cap- 
padocia  another  must  have  gone  with  it  to  a  certain  com 
mercial  agency,  requesting  that  Charles  Millard,  of  Cap- 
padocia,  New  York,  be  carefully  looked  up.  Two  weeks 


14:  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

later  Masters  wrote  that  it  had  been  found  necessary  to 
employ  a  correspondent  to  aid  the  cashier  of  the  bank. 
The  salary  would  be  two  thousand  dollars  if  Mr.  Millard 
would  accept  it.  The  oiler,  he  added,  was  rather  larger 
than  would  be  made  to  any  one  else,  as  the  officers  of  the 
bank  preferred  to  have  a  stockholder  in  a  semi-confiden 
tial  position  such  as  this  would  be.  In  village  scales  two 
thousand  dollars  a  year  was  much,  but  when  Charley 
came  to  foot  up  the  expenses  of  his  first  year  in  New 
York,  this  salary  seemed  somewhat  less  munificent. 

Millard 's  relations  were  directly  with  the  cashier, 
Farnsworth,  an  eager,  pushing,  asthmatic  little  man, 
wholly  given  to  business.  Farnsworth's  mind  rarely  took 
time  to  peep  over  the  fence  that  divided  the  universe 
into  two  parts— the  Bank  of  Manhadoes  and  its  inter 
ests  lying  on  the  one  side,  and  all  the  rest  of  creation 
on  the  other.  Not  that  he  ignored  society ;  he  gave  din 
ner  parties  in  his  elegant  housekeeping  apartment  in  the 
Sebastopol  Flats.  But  the  dinner  parties  all  had  refer 
ence  to  the  Bank  of  Manhadoes ;  the  invitations  were  all 
calculated  with  reference  to  business  relations,  and  the 
dinners  were  neatly  planned  to  bring  new  business  or  to 
hold  the  old.  But  there  were  dinners  and  dinners,  in  the 
estimation  of  Farnsworth.  Some  were  aimed  high,  and 
when  these  master-strokes  of  policy  were  successful  they 
tended  to  promote  the  main  purposes  of  the  bank.  The 
second-rate  dinners  were  meant  merely  to  smooth  the 
way  in  minor  business  relations. 

It  was  to  one  of  these  less  significant  entertainments, 
a  dinner  of  not  more  than  three  horse-power,  that  he  in- 


TEE  ORIGIN  OF  A  MAN  OF  FASHION.  15 

vited  his  correspondent-clerk,  Mr.  Millard.  It  would 
make  the  relations  between  him  and  Millard  smoother, 
and  serve  to  attach  Millard  to  his  leadership  in  the  bank 
management.  Millard,  he  reasoned,  being  from  the 
country,  would  be  just  as  well  pleased  with  a  company 
made  up  of  nobodies  in  particular  and  his  wife's  relatives 
as  he  could  be  if  he  were  invited  to  meet  a  railway  presi 
dent  and  a  leather  merchant  from  the  swamp  turned  art 
connoisseur  in  his  old  age. 

Charley  found  his  boarding-house  a  little  "  poky,"  to 
borrow  his  own  phrase,  and  he  was  pleased  with  Farns- 
worth's  invitation.  He  honored  the  occasion  by  the  pur 
chase  of  a  new  black  satin  cravat.  This  he  tied  with  ex 
treme  care,  according  to  the  approved  formula  of  "  twice 
around  and  up  and  down."  Few  men  could  tie  a  cravat 
in  better  style.  He  also  got  out  the  new  frock-coat,  made 
by  the  best  tailor  in  Cappadocia,  carefully  cherished,  and 
only  worn  on  special  occasions — the  last  being  the  even 
ing  on  which  he  had  taken  supper  at  the  house  of  the 
Baptist  minister.  If  there  was  something  slightly  rustic 
about  the  cut  or  set  of  the  coat,  Millard  did  not  suspect 
it.  The  only  indispensable  thing  about  clothes  is  that 
the  wearer  shall  be  at  peace  with  them.  Poor  Richard 
ventured  the  proposition  that  "our  nejghbors'  eyes  "are 
the  costliest  things  in  life,  but  Bonhomme  Richard  may 
have  been  a  little  off  the  mark  just  there.  Other  people's 
opinions  about  my  garments  are  of  small  consequence  ex 
cept  in  so  far  as  they  affect  my  own  conceit  of  them. 
Charley  Millard  issued  from  his  room  at  half -past  six 
content  with  himself,  and,  what  was  of  much  more  im- 


16  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

portance  to  the  peace  of  his  soul,  content  with  his 
clothes. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Millard  is  in  his  room  again.  The 
broadcloth  Prince  Albert  lies  in  an  ignominious  heap  in 
the  corner  of  the  sofa.  The  satin  cravat  is  against  the 
looking-glass  on  the  dressing-case,  just  as  Charley  has 
thrown  it  down.  Nothing  has  happened  to  the  coat  or 
the  cravat;  both  are  as  immaculate  as  at  their  sallying 
forth.  But  Millard  does  not  regard  either  of  them ;  he 
sits  moodily  in  his  chair  by  the  grate  and  postpones  to 
the  latest  moment  the  disagreeable  task  of  putting  them 
away. 

No  matter  what  the  subject  under  consideration,  we 
later  nineteenth-century  people  are  pretty  sure  to  be 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  intellect  that  has  dominated 
our  age,  modified  our  modes  of  thinking,  and  become  the 
main  source  of  all  our  metaphysical  discomforts.  It  is 
this  same  inevitable  Charles  Darwin  who  says  that  a  man 
may  be  made  more  unhappy  by  committing  a  breach  of 
etiquette  than  by  falling  into  sin.  If  Millard  had  em 
bezzled  a  thousand  dollars  of  the  bank's  funds,  could  he 
have  been  more  remorseful  than  he  is  now  ?  And  all  for 
nothing  but  that  he  found  himself  at  dinner  with  more 
cloth  in  the  tail  of  his  coat  than  there  was  in  the  coat- 
tails  of  his  neighbors,  and  that  he  wore  an  expensive 
black  cravat  while  all  the  rest  of  the  world  had  on  ghost 
ly  white  linen  ties  that  cost  but  a  dime  or  two  apiece. 

Of  course  Millard  exaggerated  the  importance  of  his 
mistake.  Young  men  who  wear  frock-coats  to  dinner, 
and  men  cf  respectability  who  do  not  possess  a  dress- 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  A  MAN  OF  FASHION.  1? 

coat,  are  not  entirely  lacking  in  New  York.  If  he  had 
known  more  of  the  world  he  would  have  known  that  the 
world  is  to  be  taken  less  to  heart.  People  are  always 
more  lenient  toward  a  mistake  in  etiquette  than  the  per 
spiring  culprit  is  able  to  imagine  them.  In  after  years 
Millard  smiled  at  the  remembrance  that  he  had  worried 
over  Farnswortlrs  company.  It  was  not  worth  the  trouble 
of  a  dress-coat. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  forswear  society,  and  to  escape 
mortification  in  future,  by  refusing  all  invitations.  If  he 
had  been  a  weakling  such  an  outcome  would  have  fol 
lowed  a  false  start.  It  is  only  a  man  who  can  pluck  the 
blossom  of  success  out  of  the  very  bramble  of  disaster. 

During  that  dinner  party  had  come  to  him  a  dim  con 
ception  of  a  society  complicated  and  conventional  to  a 
degree  that  the  upper  circle  in  Cappadocia  had  never 
dreamed  of.  lie  firmly  resolved  now  to  know  this  in  all 
its  ramifications ;  to  get  the  mastery  of  it  in  all  its  de 
tails,  so  that  no  man  should  understand  it  better  than  he. 
To  put  it  under  foot  by  superior  skill  was  to  be  his 
revenge,  the  satisfaction  he  proposed  to  make  to  his 
wounded  vanity.  As  he  could  not  even  faintly  conceive 
what  New  York  society  was  like — as  he  had  no  notion  of 
its  Pelions  on  Ossas  piled — so  he  could  as  yet  form  no  es 
timate  of  the  magnitude  of  the  success  he  was  destined  to 
achieve.  It  is  always  thus  with  a  man  on  the  threshold 
of  a  great  career. 

Among  the  widely  varying  definitions  of  genius  in 
yogue,  everybody  is  permitted  to  adopt  that  which  flatters 
his  self-love  or  serves  his  immediate  purpose.  "  Great 


13  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

powers  accidentally  determined  in  a  given  direction  "  is 
what  some  one  has  called  it.  Millard  was  hardly  a  man 
of  great  powers,  but  he  was  a  man  of  no  small  intelli 
gence.  If  he  had  been  sufficiently  bedeviled  by  poverty 
at  the  outset  who  knows  that  he  might  not  have  hardened 
into  a  stock-jobbing  prestidigitator,  and  made  the  world  the 
poorer  by  so  much  as  he  was  the  richer?  On  the  other 
hand,  he  might  perhaps  have  been  a  poet.  Certainly  a 
man  of  his  temperament  and  ingenuity  might  by  practice 
have  come  to  write  rondeaus,  ballades,  and  those  other 
sorts  of  soap-bubble  verse  just  now  in  fashion ;  and  if  he 
had  been  so  lucky  as  to  be  disappointed  in  love  at  the 
outset  of  his  career,  it  is  quite  within  the  limits  of  possi 
bility  that  he  should  have  come  to  write  real  poetry,  four 
teen  lines  to  the  piece.  But  as  the  first  great  reverse  of 
Millard's  life  was  in  a  matter  of  dress  and  etiquette,  the 
innate  force  of  his  nature  sent  him  by  mere  rebound  in 
the  direction  of  a  man  of  fashion — that  is  to  say,  an  artist 
not  in  words  or  pigments,  but  in  dress  and  manners. 


n. 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  SOCIETY  MAN. 

IT  is  the  first  step  that  costs,  say  the  French,  and 
Millard  made  those  false  starts  that  are  inevitable  at  the 
outset  of  every  career.  A  beginner  has  to  trust  some 
body,  and  in  looking  around  for  a  mentor  he  fell  into  the 
hands  of  a  fellow-boarder,  one  Sampson,  who  was  a  quiet 
man  with  the  air  of  ono  who  knows  it  all  and  is  rather 
sorry  that  he  does.  Sampson  fondly  believed  himself  a 
man  of  the  world,  and  he  had  the  pleasure  of  passing 
for  one  among  those  who  knew  nothing  at  all  about  the 
world.  lie  was  a  reflective  man,  who  had  given  much 
thought  to  that  gravest  problem  of  a  young  man's  life — 
how  to  keep  trousers  from  bagging  at  the  knees,  the  fail 
ure  to  solve  which  is  one  of  the  most  pathetic  facts  of 
human  history.  After  he  had  made  one  or  two  mistakes 
in  following  the  dicta  that  Sampson  uttered  with  all  the 
diffidence  of  a  papal  encyclical,  Millard  became  aware  that 
in  social  matters  pretension  is  often  in  inverse  ratio  to 
accomplishment.  About  the  time  that  he  gave  up  Samp 
son  he  renounced  the  cheap  tailor  into  whose  hands  he 
had  unwarily  fallen,  and  consigned  to  oblivion  a  rather 
new  thirty-dollar  dress-suit  in  favor  of  one  that  cost  half 
a  hundred  dollars  more.  He  had  by  this  time  found  out 


20  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

that  the  society  which  he  had  a  chance  to  meet  moved 
only  in  a  borderland,  and,  like  the  ambitious  man  he  was, 
he  began  already  to  lay  his  plans  broad  and  deep,  and  to 
fit  himself,  by  every  means  within  his  reach,  for  success 
in  the  greater  world  beyond. 

Having  looked  about  the  circle  of  his  small  acquaint 
ance  in  vain  for  a  guide,  he  bethought  him  that  there 
were  probably  books  on  etiquette.  He  entered  a  book 
store  one  day  with  the  intention  of  asking  for  some 
work  of  the  sort,  but  finding  in  the  proprietor  a  well- 
known  depositor  of  the  bank,  Charley  bought  a  novel 
instead.  Behold  already  the  instinct  of  a  man  of  the 
world,  whose  role  it  is  to  know  without  ever  seeming  to 
learn ! 

"When  at  length  Millard  had  secured  a  book  with  the 
title,  "  Guide  to  Good  Manners  as  Recognized  in  the  Very 
Best  Society.  By  One  of  the  Four  Hundred,"  he  felt  that 
he  had  got  his  feet  on  firm  ground. 

It  chanced  about  this  time  that  Sampson  brought 
an  old  college  chum  of  his  to  eat  a  Sunday  dinner  at 
the  boarding-house  in  Eighteenth  street.  He  introduced 
this  friend  to  Millard  with  that  impressiveness  which  be 
longed  to  all  that  the  melancholy  Sampson  did,  as  "  Mr. 
Bradley,  Mr.  Harrison  Holmes  Bradley,  the  author ;  you 
know  his  writings." 

Millard  was  covered  with  concealed  shame  to  think 
that  he  did  not  happen  to  know  the  books  of  an  author 
with  a  name  so  resonant,  but  he  did  not  confess  his  igno 
rance.  This  was  his  first  acquaintance  with  a  real  liter 
ary  man — for  the  high-school  teacher  in  Cappadocia  who 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  SOCIETY  MAN.  21 

wrote  poetry  for  the  country  papers  would  hardly  count. 
The  aspiring  Millard  thought  himself  in  luck  in  thus 
early  making  the  acquaintance  of  a  man  of  letters,  for  to 
the  half-sophisticated  an  author  seems  a  person  who  re 
flects  a  mild  and  moonshiny  luster  on  even  a  casual  ac 
quaintance.  To  know  Mr.  Bradley  might  be  a  first  step 
toward  gaining  access  to  the  more  distinguished  society 
of  the  metropolis. 

Harrison  Holmes  Bradley  proved  to  be  on  examina 
tion  a  Xew-Englander  of  the  gaunt  variety,  an  acute  man 
of  thirty,  who  ate  his  roast  turkey  and  mashed  potatoes 
with  that  avidity  he  was  wont  to  manifest  when  running 
down  an  elusive  fact  in  an  encyclopaedia.  At  the  table 
Millard,  for  want  of  other  conversation,  plucked  up 
courage  to  ask  him  whether  he  was  connected  with  a 
newspaper. 

"No;  I  am  engaged  in  general  literary  work,"  said 
Bradley. 

Neither  Millard  nor  any  one  else  at  the  table  had  the 
faintest  notion  of  the  nature  of  "general  literary  work." 
It  sounded  large,  and  Bradley  was  a  clever  talker  on 
many  themes  fresh  to  Millard,  and  when  he  went  away 
the  author  exacted  a  promise  from  Charley  to  call  on  him 
soon  in  his  "  den,"  and  he  gave  him  a  visiting  card  which 
bore  a  street  number  in  Harlem. 

Two  weeks  later  Millard,  who  was  quite  unwilling  to 
miss  a  chance  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  a  distin 
guished  man  through  whom  he  might  make  other  eligible 
friends,  called  on  Bradley.  He  found  him  at  work  in 
his  shirt-sleeves,  in  a  hall  bedroom  of  a  boarding-house, 


22  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

smoking  and  writing  as  he  sat  with  a  gas-stove  for  near 
neighbor  on  the  left  hand,  and  a  table,  which  was  origi 
nally  intended  to  serve  as  a  wash-stand,  on  the  other  side 
of  him.  The  author  welcomed  his  guest  with  unaffected 
condescension  and  borrowed  a  chair  from  the  next  room 
for  him  to  sit  on.  Finding  Millard  curious  about  the 
ways  of  authors,  he  entertained  his  guest  with  various 
anecdotes  going  to  show  how  books  are  made  and  tending 
to  throw  light  on  the  relation  of  authors  to  publishers. 
Millard  noted  what  seemed  to  him  a  bias  against  publish 
ers,  of  whom  as  a  human  species  Bradley  evidently  enter 
tained  no  great  opinion.  Millard's  love  for  particulars 
was  piqued  by  Bradley's  statement  at  their  first  meeting 
that  he  was  engaged  in  general  literary  work.  He  con 
trived  to  bring  the  author  to  talk  of  what  he  was  doing 
and  how  it  was  done. 

"  You  see,"  said  Bradley,  pleased  to  impart  informa 
tion  on  a  theme  in  which  he  was  much  interested  himself, 
"  a  literary  life  isn't  what  people  generally  take  it  to  be. 
Most  men  in  general  literary  work  fail  because  they  can 
do  only  one  thing  or,  at  most,  two.  To  make  a  living 
one  must  be  able  to  do  everything." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  so,"  said  Millard,  still  unable  to 
form  any  notion  of  what  was  implied  in  Bradley's  every 
thing.  To  him  all  literature  was  divided  into  prose  and 
poetry.  General  literature  seemed  to  include  both  of 
these  and  something  more. 

"  Last  week,"  Bradley  continued,  illustratively,  "  I 
finished  an  index,  wrote  some  verses  for  a  pictorial  adver 
tisement  of  Appleblossom's  Toilet  Soap,  and  ground  out 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  SOCIETY  MAN.  23 

an  encyclopaedia  article  on  Christian  Missions,  and  a 
magazine  paper  on  the  history  of  the  game  of  bumble- 
puppy.  I  am  now  just  beginning  a  novel  of  society  life. 
Versatility  is  the  very  foundation  of  success.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  my  knack  of  doing  all  sorts  of  things  I  never 
should  have  succeeded  as  I  have." 

Judging  by  Bradley's  surroundings  and  his  own  ac 
count  of  the  sordid  drudgery  of  a  worker  in  general  liter 
ature,  his  success  did  not  seem  to  Millard  a  very  stunning 
one.  But  Bradley  was  evidently  content  with  it,  and 
what  more  can  one  ask  of  fortune  ? 

"There  is  another  clement  that  goes  a  long  way 
toward  success  in  literature,"  proceeded  the  author,  "  and 
that  is  ability  to  work  rapidly.  When  Garfield  was  shot 
I  was  out  of  work  and  two  weeks  behind  with  my  board. 
I  went  straight  to  the  Astor  Library  and  worked  till  the 
library  closed,  gathering  material.  "\Vhen  I  went  to  bed 
that  night,  or  rather  the  next  morning,  I  had  a  paper 
on  '  Famous  Assassinations  of  History '  ready  for  the 
best  market.  But  what  I  hate  the  most  about  our 
business  is  the  having  to  write,  now  and  then,  a  thun 
der  and  lightning  story  for  the  weekly  blood-curd- 
lers.  Now  there  is  Milwain,  the  poet,  a  man  of  ge 
nius,  but  by  shop  girls  and  boys  reading  the  Satur 
day-night  papers  he  is  adored  as  Guy  St.  Cyr,  the  au 
thor  of  a  long  list  of  ghastly  horribles  thrown  off  to  get 
money." 

"  This  sort  of  work  of  all  kinds  is  what  you  call  gen 
eral  literary  work?"  queried  Millard. 

"  General  literary  work  is  the  evening  dress  we  put  on 


24.  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

it  when  it  has  to  pass  muster  before  strangers,"  said  Brad 
ley,  laughing. 

What  Millard  noted  with  a  sort  of  admiration  was 
Bradley's  perfect  complacency,  his  contentment  in  grind 
ing  Philistine  grists,  the  zest  even  that  he  evinced  for  lit 
erary  pot-hunting,  the  continual  exhilaration  that  he  got 
out  of  this  hazardous  gamble  for  a  living,  and  the  rank 
frankness  with  which  he  made  his  own  affairs  tributary 
to  the  interest  of  his  conversation. 

At  length  Bradley  emptied  his  pipe  and  laid  it  across 
his  manuscript,  at  the  same  time  rising  nervously  from 
his  chair  and  sitting  down  on  the  bed  for  a  change. 

"  Millard,"  he  said,  with  a  Bohemian  freedom  of  ad 
dress,  "you  must  know  more  about  society  than  I  do. 
Give  me  advice  on  a  point  of  etiquette." 

Charley  Millard  was  flattered  as  he  never  had  been 
flattered  before.  He  had  not  hoped  to  be  considered  an 
oracle  so  soon. 

"  You  see,"  Bradley  went  on,  "  the  publisher  of  a  new 
magazine  called  the  '  United  States  Monthly '  has  asked 
me  to  dinner.  It  is  away  over  in  Brooklyn,  and,  besides, 
the  real  reason  I  can't  go  is  that  I  haven't  got  a  dress- 
coat.  Now  what  is  the  thing  to  do  about  regrets,  cards, 
and  so  on?" 

Fresh  from  reading  his  new  "  Guide  to  Good  Man 
ners,"  Millard  felt  competent  to  decide  any  question  of 
Bristol-board,  however  weighty  or  complicated.  He  de 
livered  his  opinion  with  great  assurance  in  the  very  words 
of  the  book. 

"  I  believe  in  my  soul,"  said  Bradley,  laughing,  "  that 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  SOCIETY  MAX.  25 

you  prigged  that  from  the  '  Guide  to  Good  Manners  as 
Recognized  in  the  Very  Best  Society.' " 

Millard  looked  foolish,  but  answered  good-naturedly, 
"  Well,  what  if  I  did  ?  Have  you  read  the  book  ?  " 

Bradley  rocked  his  long  slender  body  backward  and 
forward  as  though  about  to  fall  into  a  spasm  with  sup 
pressed  merriment. 

"There  is  only  one  good  thing  I  can  say  for  that 
book,"  he  said,  recovering  himself. 

"  What's  that  ?  ??  asked  Millard,  a  little  vexed  with  the 
unaccountable  mirth  of  his  host. 

"Why,  that  I  got  two  hundred  dollars  for  writ 
ing  it." 

"You  wrote  it?"  exclaimed  Millard,  not  concealing 
his  opinion  that  Bradley  was  not  a  suitable  person  to  give 
lessons  in  politeness. 

"  You  see  I  was  offered  two  hundred  for  a  book  on 
manners.  I  needed  the  money  most  consumedly.  There 
was  Sampson,  who  knew,  or  thought  he  knew,  all  about 
the  ways  of  the  world,  though,  between  you  and  me, 
Sampson  always  did  do  a  large  business  on  a  plaguy  small 
capital.  So  I  put  Sampson  to  press  and  got  out  of  him 
whatever  I  could,  and  then  I  rehashed  a  good  deal  in  a 
disguised  way  from  the  old  '  Bazar  Book  of  Decorum '  and 
the  still  older  Count  D'Orsay,  and  some  others.  You 
have  to  know  how  to  do  such  things  if  you're  going  to 
make  a  living  as  a  literary  man.  The  title  is  a  sixpenny 
publisher's  lie.  In  the  day  of  judgment,  authors,  or  at 
least  those  of  us  doing  general  literary  work,  wrill  get  off 
easy  on  the  ground  that  poor  devils  scratching  for  their 


26  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

dinners  can  not  afford  to  be  too  high-toned,  but  publishers 
won't  have  that  excuse." 

Millard  made  his  way  home  that  night  with  some 
sense  of  disappointment.  Being  a  fine  gentleman  was 
not  so  easy  as  it  had  seemed.  The  heights  grew  more 
and  more  frosty  and  inaccessible  as  he  approached  them. 
Yet  he  had  really  made  a  great  advance  by  his  talk  with 
Bradley.  He  had  cleared  the  ground  of  rubbish.  And 
though  during  the  next  week  he  bought  two  or  three  of 
the  books  of  decorum  then  in  vogue,  he  had  learned  to 
depend  mainly  on  his  own  observations  and  good  sense. 
He  had  also  acquired  a  beginning  of  that  large  stock 
of  personal  information  which  made  him  in  after  years 
so  remarkable.  Natural  bent  is  shown  in  what  a  man 
assimilates.  Not  an  item  of  all  the  personal  traits  and 
anecdotes  of  writers  and  publishers  brought  out  in  Brad- 
ley's  unreserved  talk  had  escaped  him,  and  years  after 
ward  he  could  use  Bradley's  funny  stories  to  give  piquancy 
to  conversation. 

It  was  this  memory  of  individual  traits  and  his  tactful 
use  of  it  that  helped  to  launch  him  on  the  sea  of  social 
success.  The  gentleman  who  sat  next  to  him  at  dinner, 
the  lady  who  chatted  with  him  at  a  tea  or  a  reception, 
felt  certain  that  a  man  who  knew  all  about  every  person 
in  any  way  distinguished  in  society  could  not  be  quite 
without  conspicuousness  of  some  sort  himself.  This  be 
lief  served  to  open  doors  to  him.  Moreover,  his  fund  of 
personal  gossip,  judiciously  and  good-naturedly  used, 
made  him  a  valuable  element  in  a  small  company;  the 
interest  never  flagged  when  he  talked.  Then,  too,  Mil- 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  A  SOCIETY  MAN.  27 

lard  had  a  knack  of  repeating  in  a  way  that  seemed  al 
most  accidental,  or  at  least  purely  incidental,  what  this  or 
that  noted  person  had  said  to  him.  It  was  in  appearance 
only  an  embellishment  of  his  talk,  but  it  served  to  keep 
up  a  belief  in  the  breadth,  and  especially  the  height,  of 
his  acquaintance.  If  he  had  only  been  presented  to  Mrs. 
Manorhouse,  and  she  had  repeated  her  stock  witticism  in 
his  presence,  Millard  knew  how  to  quote  it  as  a  remark  of 
Mrs.  Manorhouse,  but  the  repose  of  his  manner  left  the 
impression  that  he  set  no  particular  store  by  the  Manor- 
houses.  He  early  learned  the  inestimable  value  of  a 
chastened  impudence  to  a  man  with  social  ambitions. 

Some  sacrifice  of  self-respect  ?  Doubtless.  But  what 
getter-on  in  the  world  is  there  that  does  not  have  to  pay 
down  a  little  self-respect  now  and  then  ?  Your  million 
aire  usually  settles  at  a  dear  rate,  and  to  be  a  great  states 
man  implies  that  one  has  paid  a  war  tariff  in  this  specie. 

One  of  the  talents  that  contributed  to  Millard's  success 
was  a  knack  of  taking  accomplishments  quickly.  Whether 
it  was  fencing,  or  boxing,  or  polo  that  was  the  tempo 
rary  vogue ;  whether  it  was  dancing,  or  speaking  society 
French,  he  held  his  own  with  the  best.  In  riding  he  was 
easily  superior  to  the  riding-school  cavaliers,  having  the 
advantage  of  familiarity  with  a  horse's  back  from  the 
time  he  had  bestrode  the  plow-horses  on  their  way  to 
water.  Though  he  found  time  in  his  first  years  in  Xew 
York  for  only  one  little  run  in  Europe,  he  always  had  the 
air  of  a  traveled  man,  so  quickly  did  he  absorb  informa 
tion,  imitate  fashions,  and  get  rid  of  provincial  manners 
and  prejudices.  His  friends  never  knew  where  he  learned 


28  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

anything.  When,  a  Frenchman  of  title  was  basking  in 
New  York  drawing-rooms  it  was  found  that  Millard  was 
equal  to  a  tete-a-tete  with  the  monolingual  foreigner, 
though  his  accent  was  better  than  his  vocabulary  was 
copious.  His  various  accomplishments  of  course  repre 
sented  many  hours  of  toil,  but  it  was  toil  of  which  his 
associates  never  heard.  He  treated  himself  as  a  work  of 
art,  of  which  the  beholder  must  judge  only  by  the  charm 
ing  result,  with  no  knowledge  of  the  foregoing  effort,  no 
thought  of  the  periods  of  ugly  incompleteness  that  have 
been  passed  on  the  way  to  perfection. 


III. 

A  SPONTANEOUS  PEDIGREE 

IT  was  not  until  the  battle  was  more  than  half  won, 
and  Millard  had  become  a  welcome  guest  in  some  of  the 
most  exclusive  houses,  that  he  was  outfitted  with  a  pedi 
gree,  lie  knew  little  of  his  ancestors  except  that  his 
father's  grandfather  was  a  humble  private  soldier  at  the 
storming  of  Stony  Point.  This  great-grandfather's  name 
was  Miller.  Dutch  or  German  neighbors  had  called  him 
Millerd  by  some  confusion  with  other  names  having  a 
similar  termination,  anl  as  he  was  tolerably  illiterate, 
and  rarely  wrote  his  name,  the  change  came  to  be  ac 
cepted.  A  new  schoolmaster  who  spelled  it  Millerd  in  the 
copy-book  of  Charley's  grandfather  fixed  the  orthography 
and  pronunciation  in  the  new  form.  About  the  time  that 
Millard  Fillmore  became  President  by  succession,  the  con 
temporary  Millerd s,  who  were  Whigs,  substituted  a  for 
the  e  in  the  name.  After  he  came  to  New  York,  Charley 
shifted  the  accent  to  the  last  syllable  to  conform  to  a 
fashion  by  which  a  hundred  old  English  names  have  been 
treated  to  a  Gallic  accent  in  America.  After  this  acquisi 
tion  of  a  new  accent  Charley  was  frequently  asked  whether 
he  were  not  of  Huguenot  descent ;  to  which  he  was  wont 
to  reply  prudently  that  he  had  never  taken  much  interest 


3Q  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

in  genealogy.  Just  why  it  is  thought  more  creditable  for 
a  resident  of  New  York  to  have  descended  from  a  Hugue 
not  peasant  or  artisan  than  from  an  English  colonist,  those 
may  tell  who  fancy  that  social  pretenses  have  a  rational 
basis. 

Charley's  mother's  father  was  named  Vanclam.  The 
family  had  been  a  little  ashamed  of  the  old  Dutch  cogno 
men  ;  it  had  such  a  wicked  sound  that  they  tried  to  shift 
the  accent  to  the  first  syllable.  Among  the  fads  that 
Charley  had  taken  up  for  a  time  after  he  came  to  New 
York  was  that  of  collecting  old  prints.  In  looking  over 
a  lot  of  these  one  day  in  a  second-hand  book-shop,  he 
stumbled  on  a  picture  of  the  colonial  period  in  which  was 
represented  one  of  the  ancient  Dutch  churches  of  New 
York.  There  was  a  single  stately  carriage  passing  in 
front  of  the  church,  and  the  artist  had  taken  the  pains  to 
show  the  footman  running  before  the  coach.  The  picture 
was  dedicated  to  "  Rip  Van  Dam,  Esq.,"  president  of  the 
council  of  the  colony  of  New  York.  As  a  Christain 
name  "  Rip  "  did  not  tend  to  take  the  curse  off  the  Van 
Dam.  But  this  picture  made  Charley  aware  that  at  least 
one  of  the  Van  Dams  had  been  a  great  man  in  his  day. 
He  reflected  that  this  must  be  the  old  Rip's  own  carriage 
delineated  in  the  foreground  of  the  picture  of  which  he 
was  the  patron ;  and  this  must  be  his  footman  charging 
along  at  breakneck  pace  to  warn  all  vulgar  carts  to  get 
out  of  the  great  gentleman's  road.  Millard  bought  the 
print  and  hung  it  in  his  sitting-room-,  for  since  he  had 
been  promoted  in  the  bank  and  had  been  admitted  to  a 
fashionable  club,  he  had  moved  into  bachelor  apartments 


A  SPONTANEOUS  PEDIGREE.  31 

suitable  to  his  improving  fortunes  and  social  position. 
He  had  also  committed  himself  to  the  keeping  of  an 
English  man-servant — he  did  not  like  to  call  him  his 
valet,  lest  the  appearance  of  ostentation  and  Anglomania 
should  prejudice  him  with  his  business  associates.  But 
somehow  the  new  dignity  of  his  own  surroundings  seemed 
to  lend  something  bordering  on  probability  to  the  con 
jecture  that  this  once  acting-governor  of  New  York,  Kip 
Van  Dam,  might  have  been  one  of  Charley's  ancestors. 

Millard  hung  this  print  on  one  side  of  the  chimney  in 
his  apartment,  a  chimney  that  had  a  pair  of  andirons  and 
three  logs  of  wood  in  it.  But  whether  this  or  any  other 
chimney  in  the  Graydon  Building  was  fitted  to  contain  a 
fire  nobody  knew ;  for  the  building  was  heated  by  steam, 
and  no  one  had  been  foolhardy  enough  to  discover  experi 
mentally  just  what  would  happen  if  fire  were  actually 
lighted  in  fireplaces  so  unrealistic  as  these.  On  the  other 
side  of  his  chimney  Charley  hung  a  print  of  the  storming 
of  Stony  Point.  One  evening,  Philip  Gouverneur,  one  of 
Millard's  new  cronies,  who  was  calling  on  him,  asked 
"  Millard,  what  have  you  got  that  old  meeting-house  on 
your  wall  for  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Millard,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
but  languidly  interested, — your  real  gentleman  always 
affects  to  be  bored  by  what  he  cares  for, — "  you  see  I  put 
it  there  because  it  is  dedicated  to  old  Rip  Van  Dam." 

"  What  do  you  care  for  that  old  cuss  ? "  went  on 
Gouverneur,  who,  being  of  the  true  blue  blood  himself, 
had  a  fad  of  making  game  of  the  whole  race  of  ancient 
worthies. 


32  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  I  don't  really  care,"  said  Charley ;  "  but  as  my 
mother  was  a  Vandam,  she  may  have  descended  from  this 
Eip.  I  have  no  documents  to  prove  it." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  Excuse  me  for  making  fun  of  your  fore 
fathers.  I  say  every  mean  thing  I  can  think  of  about 
mine,  but  another  man's  grandfather  is  sacred.  You  see 
I  couldn't  help  smiling  at  the  meeting-house  on  one  side 
and  that  old-fashioned,  bloody  bayonet-charge  on  the 
other." 

"  Oh,  that's  only  another  case  of  ancestor,"  said  Mil- 
lard  ;  "  my  great-grandfather  was  at  Stony  Point." 

"  The  more  fool  he,"  said  Gouverneur.  "  My  fore 
fathers,  now,  contrived  to  keep  out  of  bayonet-charges, 
and  shed  for  their  country  mostly  ink  and  oratory, 
speeches  and  documents." 

Though  Philip  Gouverneur  did  not  care  for  ancestors, 
his  mother  did.  The  one  thing  that  enabled  Mrs.  Gouv 
erneur  to  look  down  on  the  whole  brood  of  railway  mag 
nates,  silver-mine  kings,  and  Standard  Oil  operators, 
who,  as  she  phrased  it,  "  had  intruded  into  New  York," 
was  the  fact  that  her  own  family  had  taken  an  historic 
part  in  the  Revolutionary  struggle.  At  this  very  moment 
she  was  concocting  a  ball  in  memory  of  the  evacuation  of 
New  York,  and  she  was  firmly  resolved  that  on  this  occa 
sion  no  upstart  of  an  Astor  or  a  Vanderbilt,  much  less  any 
later  comer,  should  assist — nobody  but  those  whose  fam 
ilies  were  distinctly  of  Revolutionary  or  colonial  dignity. 
In  truth,  Mrs.  Gouverneur  had  some  feeling  of  resentment 
that  the  capitalist  families  were  of  late  disposed  to  take 
themselves  for  leaders  in  society,  and  to  treat  the  merely 


A  SPONTANEOUS  PEDIGREE.  33 

old  families  as  dispensable  if  necessary.  This  assembly 
to  be  made  up  exclusively  of  antiques  was  her  counter- 
move. 

It  cost  her  something  of  a  struggle.  There  were  ami 
able  people,  otherwise  conspicuously  eligible,  whom  she 
must  omit  if  she  adhered  to  her  plan,  and  there  were 
some  whom  she  despised  that  must  be  asked  on  account 
of  the  illustriousness  of  their  pedigree.  But  Mrs.  Gouv- 
erneur  had  set  out  to  check  the  deterioration  of  society 
in  New  York,  and  she  was  not  the  woman  to  draw  back 
when  principle  demanded  the  sacrifice  of  her  feelings. 
She  had  taken  the  liveliest  fancy  to  young  Millard,  who 
by  a  charming  address,  obliging  manners,  and  an  endless 
stock  of  useful  information  had  made  himself  an  intimate 
in  the  Gouverneur  household.  He  had  come  to  dine  with 
them  informally  almost  every  alternate  Sunday  evening. 
To  leave  him  out  would  be  a  dreadful  cut ;  but  what  else 
could  she  do?  What  would  be  said  of  her  set  of  old 
china  if  she  inserted  such  a  piece  of  new  porcelain? 
What  would  Miss  Lavinia  Yandeleur,  special  oracle  on 
the  genealogy  of  the  exclusive  families,  think,  if  Mrs. 
Gouverneur  should  be  so  recreant  to  right  principles  as  to 
invite  a  young  man  without  a  single  grandfather  to  his 
back,  only  because  he  had  virtues  of  his  own  ? 

"  I  say,  mother,"  said  Philip,  her  son,  when  he  came 
to  look  over  the  list,  "  you  haven't  got  Charley  Millard 
down." 

"Well,  how  can  I  invite  Mr.  Millard?  He  has  no 
family." 

"  No  family !     Why,  he  is  a  descendant  of  old  Gov- 
3 


3J.  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

ernor  Van  Dam,  and  one  of  his  ancestors  was  an  officer 
under  Wayne  at  Stony  Point." 

"Are  you  sure,  Philip?" 

"  Certainly :  he  has  pictures  of  Stony  Point  and  of 
Eip  Van  Dam  hanging  in  his  room.  No  Revolutionary 
party  would  be  complete  without  him." 

Mrs.  Gouverneur  looked  at  Philip  suspiciously ;  he  had 
a  way  of  quizzing  her ;  but  his  face  did  not  flinch,  and 
she  was  greatly  relieved  to  think  she  had  missed  mak 
ing  the  mistake  of  omitting  a  friend  with  so  eligible  a 
backing.  Millard  was  invited,  rather  to  his  own  sur 
prise,  and  taken  into  preliminary  councils  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course.  When  the  introductory  minuet  had  been 
danced,  and  the  ball  was  at  its  height,  Philip  Gouver 
neur,  with  a  smile  of  innocence,  led  his  friend  straight 
to  Miss  Vandeleur,  who  proudly  wore  the  very  dress 
in  which,  according  to  a  rather  shaky  tradition,  her 
great-great  aunt  had  poured  tea  for  General  Washing 
ton. 

"  Miss  Vandeleur,"  said  Philip,  "  let  me  present  Mr. 
Millard." 

Miss  Vandeleur  gave  Millard  one  of  the  bows  she 
kept  ready  for  people  of  no  particular  consequence. 

"  Mr.  Millard  is  real  old  crockery,"  said  Philip  in  a 
half -confidential  tone.  "  Some  of  us  think  it  enough  to 
be  Revolutionary,  but  he  is  a  descendant  of  Rip  Van 
Dam,  the  old  governor  of  New  York  in  the  seventeenth 
century." 

Miss  Vandeleur's  face  relaxed,  and  she  remarked  that 
judging  from  his  name,  as  well  as  from  something  in  his 


A  SPONTANEOUS  PEDIGREE.  35 

appearance,  Mr.  Millard  must  have  come,  like  herself, 
from  one  of  the  old  Huguenot  families. 

"  Kevolutionary,  too,  Charley?"  said  Philip,  looking 
at  Millard.  Then  to  Miss  Yandeleur,  "  One  of  his  an 
cestors  was  second  in  command  in  the  charge  on  Stony 
Point." 

"  Ah,  Philip,  you  put  it  too  strongly,  I— 

"  There's  Governor  Cadwallader  waiting  to  speak  to 
you,  Miss  Vandeleur,"  interrupted  Philip,  bowing  and 
drawing  Millard  away.  "  Don't  say  a  word,  Charley. 
The  most  of  Miss  Vandeleur's  information  is  less  sound 
than  what  I  told  her  about  you.  Nine-tenths  of  all  such 
a  genealogy  huckster  takes  for  gospel  is  just  rot.  I  knew 
that  Rip  Van  Dam  would  impress  her  if  I  put  it  strongly 
and  said  seventeenth  century.  You  see  the  further  away 
your  forefather  is,  the  more  the  virtue.  Ancestry  is  like 
homeopathic  medicine,  the  oftener  it  is  diluted  the 
greater  the  potency." 

"  Yes,"  said  Millard  ;  "  and  a  remote  ancestor  has  the 
advantage  that  pretty  much  everything  to  his  discredit 
has  been  forgotten." 

Charley  knew  that  this  faking  of  a  Millard  pedigree 
by  his  friend  would  prove  as  valuable  to  him  as  a  decora 
tion  in  the  eyes  of  certain  exclusive  people.  His  con 
science  did  not  escape  without  some  qualms;  he  did  not 
like  to  be  labeled  what  he  was  not.  But  he  had  learned  by 
this  time  that  society  of  every  grade  is  in  great  part  a 
game  of  Mild  Humbug,  and  that  this  game,  like  all  oth 
ers,  must  be  played  according  to  rule.  Each  player  has  a 
right  to  make  the  most  of  his  hand,  whatever  it  may  be. 


36  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

He  had  begun  without  a  single  strong  card.  Neither 
great  wealth,  personal  distinction,  nor  noted  family  had 
fallen  to  him.  But  in  the  game  of  Mild  Humbug  as  in 
almost  all  other  games,  luck  and  good  play  go  for  much  ; 
with  skill  and  fortune  a  weak  card  may  take  the  trick, 
and  Millard  was  in  a  fair  way  to  win  against  odds. 


IV. 
THE  BANK  OF  MANHADOES. 

a  farmer  turns  a  strange  cow  into  his  herd  she 
has  to  undergo  a  competitive  examination.  The  fighter 
of  the  flock,  sometimes  a  reckless-looking  creature  with 
one  horn  turned  down  as  a  result  of  former  battles,  walks 
directly  up  to  the  stranger,  as  in  duty  bound.  The  duel 
is  in  good  form  and  preceded  by  ceremonious  bowing  on 
both  sides  ;  one  finds  here  the  origin  of  that  scrape  with 
the  foot  which  was  an  essential  part  of  all  obeisance 
before  the  frosty  perpendicular  English  style  came  in. 
Politeness  over,  the  two  brutes  lock  horns,  and  there  is  a 
trial  of  strength,  weight,  and  bovine  persistency ;  let  the 
one  that  first  gives  ground  look  out  for  a  thrust  in  the 
ribs !  But  once  the  newcomer  has  settled  her  relative 
social  standing  and  knows  which  of  her  fellows  are  to 
have  the  pas  of  her  at  the  hayrick  and  the  watering- 
place,  and  which  she  in  turn  may  safely  bully,  all  is  peace 
in  the  pasture. 

Something  like  this  takes  place  in  our  social  herds. 
In  every  government,  cabinet,  party,  or  deliberative  body 
there  is  the  preliminary  set-to  until  it  is  discovered  who, 
by  one  means  or  another,  can  push  the  hardest.  Not 
only  in  governments  and  political  bodies  but  in  every  cor- 


38  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

poration,  club,  Dorcas  society,  base-ball  league,  church, 
and  grocery  store,  the  superficial  observer  sees  what 
appears  to  be  harmony  and  even  brotherly  unity ;  it  is 
only  the  result  of  preliminary  pushing  matches  by  which 
the  equilibrium  of  offensive  and  defensive  qualities  has 
been  ascertained.  And  much  that  passes  for  domestic 
harmony  is  nothing  but  a  prudent  acquiescence  in  an  ar 
rangement  based  on  relative  powers  of  annoyance. 

This  long  preamble  goeth  to  show  that  if  the  Bank  of 
Manhadoes  had  its  rivalries  it  was  not  singular.  In  the 
light  of  the  general  principles  we  have  evoked,  the  elbow- 
ings  among  the  officers  of  the  bank  are  lifted  into  the 
dignity  of  instances,  examples,  phenomena  illustrating 
human  nature  and  human  history.  More  far-reaching 
than  human  nature,  they  are  offshoots  of  the  great  strug 
gle  for  existence,  which,  as  we  moderns  have  had  the 
felicity  to  discover,  gives  rise  to  the  survival  of  the  tough 
and  the  domination  of  the  pugnacious — the  annihilation 
of  the  tender  and  the  subjugation  of  the  sensitive. 

When  Millard  entered  the  bank  there  existed  a  con 
flict  in  the  board  of  directors,  and  a  division  of  opinion 
extending  to  the  stockholders,  between  those  who  sus 
tained  and  those  who  opposed  the  policy  of  the  Masters- 
Farnsworth  administration.  But  the  administration 
proved  fortunate  and  successful  to  such  a  degree  that  the 
opposition  and  rivalry  presently  died  away  or  lost  hope. 
Once  the  opposition  to  the  two  managers  had  disap 
peared,  the  lack  of  adjustment  between  the  president  and 
cashier  became  more  pronounced.  Farnsworth  was  the 
victim  of  a  chronic  asthma,  and  he  was  as  ambitious  as  he 


THE  BANK  OF  MANHADOES.  39 

was  restless.  The  wan  little  man  was  untiring  in  his  ex 
ertions  because  the  trouble  he  had  to  get  breath  left  him 
no  temptation  to  repose.  He  contrived  to  find  vent  for 
his  uneasiness  by  communicating  a  great  deal  of  it  to  oth 
ers.  Masters,  the  president,  was  a  man  of  sixty-five,  with 
neither  disease  nor  ambition  preying  on  his  vitals.  For  a 
long  while  he  allowed  Farnsworth  to  have  his  way  in 
most  things,  knowing  that  if  one  entered  into  contention 
with  Farnsworth  there  was  no  hope  of  ever  making  an 
end  of  it  except  by  death  or  surrender.  That  which  was 
decided  yesterday  against  Farnsworth  was  sure  to  be  re 
opened  this  morning  ;  and  though  finally  settled  again  to 
day,  it  was  all  to  be  gone  over  to-morrow ;  nor  would  it 
be  nearer  to  an  adjustment  next  week.  Compromise  did 
no  good :  Farnsworth  accepted  your  concession  to-day, 
and  then  higgled  you  to  split  the  difference  on  the  re 
mainder  to-morrow,  until  you  had  so  small  a  dividend 
left  that  it  was  not  worth  holding  to. 

But  in  dealing  with  a  man  like  Masters  it  was  possible 
to  carry  the  policy  of  grand  worry  too  far.  When  at 
length  this  rather  phlegmatic  man  made  up  his  mind 
that  Farnsworth  was  systematically  bullying  him — a  con 
clusion  that  Mrs.  Masters  helped  him  to  reach — he  be 
came  the  very  granite  of  obstinacy,  offering  a  quiet  but 
unyielding  resistance  to  the  cashier's  aggressiveness.  But 
an  ease-loving  man  could  not  keep  up  this  sort  of  fight 
forever.  Masters  knew  this  as  well  as  any  one,  and  he 
therefore  felt  the  need  of  some  buffer  between  him  and 
his  associate.  There  were  two  positions  contemplated  in 
the  organization  of  the  bank  that  had  never  yet  been 


40  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

filled.  One  was  that  of  vice-president,  the  other  that  of 
assistant  cashier.  By  filling  the  assistant  cashier's  place 
with  an  active,  aggressive  man,  Masters  might  secure 
an  ally  who  could  attack  Farnsworth  on  the  other  flank. 
But  in  doing  that  he  would  have  to  disappoint  Millard, 
who  was  steadily  growing  in  value  to  the  bank,  but  who, 
from  habitual  subordination  to  Farnsworth,  and  the  natu 
ral  courtesy  of  his  disposition,  could  not  be  depended  on 
to  offer  much  resistance.  To  introduce,  a  stranger  would 
be  to  disturb  the  status  quo,  and  the  first  maxim  in  the 
conduct  of  institutions  is  to  avoid  violent  changes.  Once 
the  molecules  of  an  organization  are  set  into  unusual 
vibration  it  is  hard  to  foretell  what  new  combinations 
they  may  form.  And  your  practical  man  dislikes,  of  all 
things,  to  invite  the  unforeseen  and  the  incalculable. 

The  election  of  a  vice-president  would  bring  a  new 
man  into  the  bank  over  the  head  of  Farnsworth,  but  it 
would  also  produce  a  disturbance  from  which  Masters  felt 
a  shrinking  natural  to  an  experienced  and  conservative 
administrator.  Moreover,  there  was  no  one  connected 
with  the  direction,  or  even  holding  stock  in  the  bank, 
suitable  to  be  put  over  Farnsworth.  Unless,  indeed,  it 
were  thought  best  to  bring  Hilbrough  from  Brooklyn. 
To  introduce  so  forceful  a  man  as  Hilbrough  into  the 
management  would  certainly  be  a  great  thing  for  the 
bank,  and  it  would  not  fail  to  put  an  end  to  the  domi 
nation  of  Farnsworth.  But  Masters  reflected  that  it 
might  equally  reduce  his  own  importance.  And  with 
all  his  irritation  against  Farnsworth  the  president  dis 
liked  to  deal  him  too  severe  a  blow. 


THE   BANK  OF  MANHADOES.  41 

If  the  matter  had  been  left  to  Mrs.  Masters,  there 
would  have  been  no  relentings.  In  her  opinion  Farns- 
worth  ought  to  be  put  out.  Aren't  you  president,  Mr. 
Masters?  Why  don't  you  le  president,  then?  Don't 
like  to  be  too  hard  on  him  ?  That's  just  like  you.  I'd 
just  put  him  out,  and  there'd  be  an  end  of  his  fussiness 
once  for  all.  Of  course  you  could  if  you  set  about  it. 
You  are  always  saying  that  you  don't  like  to  let  feeling 
interfere  with  business.  But  I  wouldn't  stand  Farns- 
worth — little  shrimp ! — setting  up  to  run  a  bank.  Ill  ? 
Well,  he  ought  to  be ;  makes  himself  ill  meddling  with 
other  people.  He'd  be  better  if  he  didn't  worry  about 
what  doesn't  belong  to  him.  I'd  give  him  rest.  It's  all 
well  enough  to  sneer  at  a  woman's  notion  of  business,  but 
the  bank  would  be  better  off  if  you  had  entire  control  of 
it.  The  directors  know  that,  they  must  know  it ;  they 
are  not  blind. 

There  were  no  half-tones  in  Mrs.  Master's  judgment ; 
everything  was  painted  in  coal  blacks  or  glittering  whites. 
She  saw  no  mediums  in  character ;  he  who  was  not  good 
in  every  particular  was  capable  of  most  sorts  of  deviltry, 
in  her  opinion. 

This  antagonism  between  the  president  and  the  cash 
ier  did  not  reach  its  acute  stage  until  Millard  had  been 
in  the  bank  for  more  than  three  years.  Millard  had 
made  his  way  in  the  estimation  of  the  directors  in  part 
by  his  ever-widening  acquaintance  with  people  of  im 
portance.  His  social  connections  enabled  him  to  be  of 
service  to  many  men  whose  good-will  was  beneficial  to 
the  bank,  and  he  was  a  ready  directory  to  financial  and 


42  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

family  relationships,  and  to  the  business  history  and 
standing  of  those  with  whom  the  bank  had  dealings. 
Add  to  these  advantages  his  considerable  holdings  of  the 
bank's  stock,  and  it  is  easy  to  comprehend  how  in  spite 
of  his  youth  he  had  come  to  stand  next  to  Masters  and 
Farnsworth.  The  dissensions  between  these  two  were 
disagreeable  to  one  who  had  a  decided  preference  for  qui 
etude  and  placidity  of  manners ;  but  he  kept  aloof  from 
their  quarrel,  though  he  must  have  had  private  griev 
ances  against  a  superior  so  pragmatical  as  Farnsworth. 

A  sort  of  magnanimity  was  mingled  with  craft  in 
Masters's  constitution,  and,  besides,  he  much  preferred 
the  road  that  was  likely  to  give  him  the  fewest  jolts. 
The  natural  tendency  of  his  irritation  was  to  die  away. 
This  would  have  been  the  result  in  spite  of  the  spur  that 
Mrs.  Masters  supplied — applied,  rather — if  Farnsworth 
could  have  been  content  to  let  things  take  their  natural 
course ;  but  he  could  not  abide  to  let  anything  go  its 
natural  way:  he  would  have  attempted  a  readjustment 
of  the  relations  between  the  moon  and  tides  if  he  had 
thought  himself  favorably  situated  for  puttering  in  such 
matters.  The  temporary  obstruction  which  Masters  of- 
f erred  to  his  fussy  willfulness  seemed  to  the  cashier  an 
outrage  hard  to  be  borne.  After  he  had  taken  so  many 
tedious  years  to  establish  his  ascendancy  in  nine-tenths 
of  the  bank's  affairs  it  was  sheer  impertinence  in  Masters 
to  wish  to  have  any  considerable  share  in  the  manage 
ment.  The  backset  to  his  ambition  made  him  more 
sleepless  than  ever,  bringing  on  frequent  attacks  of 
asthma.  He  lost  interest  even  in  the  dinner  parties,  with 


THE   BANK  OF  MANHADOES.  43 

a  business  squint,  that  he  had  been  so  fond  of  giving. 
Mrs.  Farnsworth  was  under  the  frequent  necessity  of 
holding  a  platter  of  burning  stramonium  under  his  nose 
to  subdue  the  paroxysms  of  wheezing  that  threatened  to 
cut  short  his  existence.  Along  with  the  smoke  of  the 
stramonium  she  was  wont  to  administer  a  soothing 
smudge  of  good  advice,  beseeching  him  not  to  worry 
about  things,  though  she  knew  perfectly  that  he  would 
never  cease  to  worry  about  things  so  long  as  his  attenu 
ated  breath  was  not  wholly  turned  off.  She  urged  him 
to  make  Masters  do  his  share  of  the  work,  and  to  take  a 
vacation  himself,  or  to  resign  outright,  so  as  to  spend 
his  winters  in  Jacksonville.  But  every  new  paroxysm 
brought  to  Farnsworth  a  fresh  access  of  resentment 
against  Masters,  whom  he  regarded  as  the  source  of  all 
his  woes.  In  his  wakeful  nights  he  planned  a  march  on 
the  very  lines  that  Masters  had  proposed.  He  would  get 
Millard  made  assistant  cashier,  and  then  have  himself 
advanced  to  vice-president,  with  Millard,  or  some  one  on 
whom  he  could  count  more  surely,  for  cashier.  He  pro 
posed  nothing  less  than  to  force  the  president  out  of  all 
active  control,  and,  if  possible,  to  compel  him  to  resign. 
No  qualms  of  magnanimity  disturbed  this  deoxygenated 
man.  It  was  high  time  for  Masters  to  resign,  if  for  no 
other  reason  than  that  Farnsworth  might  occupy  the 
private  office.  This  inner  office  was  a  badge  of  Masters's 
superiority  not  to  be  endured. 

There  was  one  director,  Meadows,  whom  Farnsworth 
lighted  on  as  a  convenient  agent  in  his  intrigue.  Mead 
ows  had  belonged  to  the  old  opposition  which  had  re- 


44:  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

sisted  both  the  president  and  cashier.  He  was  suspected 
of  a  desire  to  make  a  place  for  his  brother,  who  had  been 
cashier  of  a  bank  that  had  failed,  and  who  had  broken 
in  nerve  force  when  the  bank  broke.  Farnsworth,  who 
rode  about  in  a  coupe  to  save  his  breath  for  business  and 
contention,  drove  up  in  front  of  Meadows's  shop  one 
morning  at  half -past  nine,  and  made  his  way  back  among 
chandeliers  of  many  patterns  in  incongruous  juxtaposi 
tion,  punctuated  with  wall  burners  and  table  argands. 
In  the  private  office  at  the  back  he  found  Meadows  open 
ing  his  letters.  He  was  a  round-jawed  man  with  blue 
eyes,  an  iron-oxide  complexion,  stiff,  short,  rusty  hair, 
red-yellow  side-whiskers,  an  upturned  nose,  and  a  shorn 
chin,  habitually  thrust  forward.  Once  seated  and  his 
wind  recovered,  Farnsworth  complained  at  some  length 
that  he  found  it  hard  to  carry  all  the  responsibility  of  the 
bank  without  adequate  assistance. 

"  You  ought  to  have  an  experienced  assistant,"  said 
Meadows.  This  was  the  first  occasion  on  which  any  offi 
cer  of  the  bank  had  shown  his  good  sense  by  consulting 
Meadows,  and  he  was  on  that  account  the  more  disposed 
to  encourage  Farnsworth. 

"  If,  now,"  said  Farnsworth,  "  I  could  have  as  good  a 
man  as  they  say  your  brother  is,  I  would  be  better  fixed. 
But  an  experienced  man  like  your  brother  would  not  take 
the  place  of  assistant  cashier." 

Meadows  was  not  so  sure  that  his  brother  would  refuse 
any  place,  but  he  thought  it  better  not  to  say  anything 
in  reply.  Farnsworth,  who  had  no  desire  to  take  Mead 
ows's  brother  unless  he  should  be  driven  to  it,  saw  the 


THE  BANK   OF  MANHADOES.  45 

dangerous  opening  he  had  left.  He  therefore  proceeded, 
as  soon  as  he  could  get  breath  : 

"  Besides,  the  assistant's  place  belongs  naturally  to 
young  Millard,  and  he  would  have  influence  enough  to 
defeat  anybody  else  who  might  be  proposed.  He  is  a 
good  fellow,  but  he  can't  take  responsibility.  If  Masters 
were  not  the  cold-blooded  man  he  is,  he  would  have  made 
Millard  assistant  cashier  long  ago,  and  advanced  me  to  be 
vice-president." 

"  And  then  you  would  want  some  good  man  for  cash 
ier,"  said  Meadows. 

"  Precisely,"  said  Farnsworth ;  "  that  is  just  it." 

"  I  think  we  can  do  that  with  or  without  Masters," 
said  Meadows,  turning  his  head  to  one  side  with  a  quiet 
air  of  defiance.  He  was  only  too  well  pleased  to  renew 
his  fight  against  Masters  with  Farnsworth  for  ally.  The 
question  of  his  brother's  appointment  was  after  all  an 
auxiliary  one ;  he  loved  faction  and  opposition  pure  and 
simple. 

"  I  am  sure  we  can,"  said  Farnsworth.  "  Of  course 
my  hand  must  not  appear.  But  if  a  motion  were  to  be 
made  to  advance  both  Millard  and  me  one  step,  I  don't 
think  Masters  would  dare  oppose  it." 

"  I'll  make  the  motion,"  said  Meadows,  with  some 
thing  like  a  sniff,  as  though,  like  Job's  war-horse,  he 
smelled  the  battle  and  liked  the  odor. 

In  taking  leave  Farnsworth  told  Meadows  that  he 
had  not  yet  spoken  to  Millard  about  the  matter,  and  he 
thought  it  not  best  to  mention  it  to  him  before  the  meet 
ing.  But  the  one  thing  that  rendered  Meadows  tolerably 


46  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

innocuous  was  that  he  never  could  co-operate  with  an 
ally,  even  in  factious  opposition,  without  getting  up  a 
new  faction  within  the  first,  and  so  fomenting  subdi 
visions  as  long  as  there  were  two  to  divide.  The  moment 
Farnsworth  had  left  him  he  began  to  reflect  suspiciously 
that  the  cashier  intended  to  tell  Millard  himself,  and  so 
take  the  entire  credit  of  the  promotion.  This  would 
leave  Farnsworth  free  to  neglect  Meadows's  brother. 
Meadows,  therefore,  resolved  to  tell  Millard  in  advance 
and  thus  put  the  latter  under  obligation  to  further  his 
brother's  interest.  He  gave  himself  great  credit  for  a  de 
vice  by  which  he  would  play  Farnsworth  against  Masters 
and  then  head  off  Farnsworth  with  Millard.  Farnsworth 
wished  to  use  him  to  pull  some  rather  hot  chestnuts  out 
of  the  fire,  and  he  chuckled  to  think  that  he  had  ar 
ranged  to  secure  his  own  share  of  the  nuts  first. 

With  this  profound  scheme  in  his  head,  Meadows  con 
trived  to  encounter  Millard  at  luncheon,  an  encounter 
which  the  latter  usually  took  some  pains  to  avoid,  for 
Millard  was  fastidious  in  eating  as  in  everything  else  and 
he  disliked  to  see  Meadows  at  the  table.  Not  that  the 
latter  did  not  know  the  use  of  fork  and  napkin,  but  he 
assaulted  his  food  with  a  ferocity  that,  as  Millard  once 
remarked,  "lent  too  much  support  to  the  Darwinian 
hypothesis." 

On  the  day  of  his  conversation  with  Farnsworth, 
Meadows  bore  down  on  the  table  where  Millard  sat  alone, 
disjointing  a  partridge. 

"  Goo'  morning,"  he  said,  abruptly  seating  himself  on 
the  rail  of  the  chair  opposite  to  Millard,  and  beckoning 


THE  BANK  OP   MANHADOES.  47 

impatiently  to  a  waiter,  who  responded  but  languidly, 
knowing  that  Meadows  was  opposed  to  the  tip  system 
from  both  principle  and  interest. 

When  he  had  given  his  order  and  then,  as  usual, 
called  back  the  waiter  as  he  was  going  out  the  door,  wav 
ing  his  hand  at  him  and  uttering  a  "  H-i-s-t,  waitah  !  "  to 
tell  him  that  he  did  not  want  his  meat  so  fat  as  it  had 
been  the  last  time,  he  gave  his  attention  to  Millard  and 
introduced  the  subject  of  the  approaching  meeting  of  the 
directors. 

"  Why  doesn't  old  Kip  Van  Winkle  wake  up  ?  "  said 
Meadows.  "  Why  doesn't  he  make  you  assistant  cashier  ? 
I'm  sure  you  deserve  it." 

"  Well,  now,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  Mr.  Meadows,  and 
leave  it  to  me,  I  will  say  candidly  that  I  suppose  the  real 
reason  for  not  promoting  me  is  that  Mr.  Masters,  being  a 
man  of  sound  judgment,  feels  that  he  can  not  do  me  jus 
tice  under  the  circumstances.  If  I  had  my  deserts  I'd 
be  president  of  the  bank ;  but  it  would  be  too  much  to 
ask  a  gentleman  at  Mr.  Masters's  time  of  life  to  move  out 
of  his  little  office  just  to  make  room  for  a  deserving 
young  man." 

"  You  may  joke,  but  you  know  that  Masters  is  jealous. 
Why  doesn't  he  promote  Farnsworth  to  be  vice-president  ? 
You  know  that  Farnsworth  really  runs  the  bank." 

"It  isn't  his  fault  if  he  doesn't,"  said  Millard  in  a 
half -whisper. 

"  I  believe  that  if  I  made  a  move  to  advance  both  you 
and  Farnsworth  it  could  be  carried."  Meadows  looked 
inquiringly  at  his  companion. 


48  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  What  would  become  of  the  cashiership  ? "  asked 
Millard.  "  I  suppose  we  could  divide  that  between  us." 
"  Won't  you  try  a  glass  of  Moselle  ?  "  And  he  passed  the 
bottle  to  Meadows,  who  poured  out  a  glass  of  it — he 
never  declined  wine  when  some  one  else  paid  for  it — 
while  Millard  kept  on  talking  to  keep  from  saying  any 
thing.  "  I  like  to  drink  the  health  of  any  man  who  pro 
poses  to  increase  my  salary,  Mr.  Meadows."  Millard  ob 
served  with  disgust  that  the  bank  director  drank  off  the 
w  ine  at  a  gulp  as  he  might  have  taken  any  vulgar  claret, 
with  an  evident  lack  of  appreciation.  Millard  himself 
was  a  light  drinker;  nothing  but  the  delicate  flavor  of 
good  wine  could  make  drinking  tolerable  to  him.  The 
mind  of  Meadows,  however,  was  intent  on  the  subject 
under  discussion. 

"  The  cashiership,"  he  said,  "  could  either  be  filled  by 
some  experienced  man  or  it  might  be  left  vacant  for  a 
while." 

Millard  saw  a  vision  of  Meadows,  the  discouraged 
brother,  stepping  in  over  his  head. 

"  If  a  cashier  should  be  put  in  now,"  said  Meadows, 
"  it  would  end  presently  in  old  Rip  Van  Winkle's  resign 
ing,  and  then  an  advance  along  the  whole  line  would 
move  you  up  once  more."  Meadows  thought  that  this 
sop  would  reconcile  Millard  to  having  his  brother  inter 
polated  above  him. 

"  That's  a  good  plan,"  said  Millard,  using  his  finger- 
bowl  ;  "  and  then  if  Mr.  Farnsworth  would  only  be  kind 
enough  to  die  in  one  of  his  attacks,  and  the  other  man 
should  get  rich  by  speculation  and  retire,  I'd  come  to 


THE  BANK  OF  MANHADOES.  49 

be  president  at  last.  That  is  the  only  place  suited  to  a 
modest  and  worthy  young  man  like  myself." 

This  fencing  annoyed  Meadows,  who  was  by  this  time 
salting  and  peppering  his  roast  beef,  glaring  at  it  the 
while  like  a  boa-constrictor  contemplating  a  fresh  victim 
in  anticipation  of  the  joys  of  deglutition.  Millard  saw 
the  importance  of  letting  Masters  know  about  this  new 
move,  and  feared  that  Meadows  would  attempt  to  put 
him  under  bonds  of  secrecy.  So,  as  he  rose  to  go,  like 
a  prairie  traveler  protecting  himself  by  back-firing,  he 
said  : 

"  If  you're  really  serious  in  this  matter,  Mr.  Meadows, 
I  suppose  you'll  take  pains  not  to  have  it  generally 
known.  For  one  thing,  if  you  won't  tell  anybody  else, 
I'll  promise  you  not  to  tell  my  wife." 

"And  if  Farnsworth  speaks  to  you  about  it,"  said 
Meadows,  "  don't  tell  him  that  I  have  said  anything  to 
you.  He  wanted  to  tell  you  himself." 

"  I'll  not  let  him  know  that  you  said  anything  about 
it." 

And  with  that  Millard  went  out.  The  bait  of  the 
assistant  cashiership  was  not  tempting  enough  to  draw 
him  into  this  intrigue.  The  greater  part  of  his  capital 
was  in  the  bank,  and  he  knew  that  the  withdrawal  of 
Masters  would  be  a  misfortune  to  him.  Finding  that 
Farnsworth  was  out,  Millard  went  to  the  president's  room 
under  color  of  showing  him  a  letter  of  importance.  A 
man  of  dignity  doesn't  like  to  seem  to  bear  tales  with 
malice  prepense.  When  he  was  about  to  leave  Millard 
said  : 

A 


50  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  I  hear  that  a  motion  is  to  be  made  looking  to 
changes  in  the  personnel  of  the  bank." 

The  president  was  a  little  startled ;  his  first  impres 
sion  from  this  remark  being  that  somehow  Millard  had 
got  wind  of  the  plans  he  had  revolved  and  then  dis 
carded. 

"  What  do  you  hear  ?  "  he  said,  in  his  usual  non-com 
mittal  way. 

"  Nothing  very  definite,  but  something  that  leads  rue 
to  think  that  Mr.  Farnsworth  would  like  to  be  vice-presi 
dent  and  that  Meadows  would  consent  to  have  his  brother 
take  the  cashiership." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Masters,  smiling.  It 
was  his  habit  to  smile  when  he  felt  the  impulse  to  frown. 
He  did  not  like  to  seem  ignorant  of  anything  going  on  in 
the  bank,  so  he  said  no  more  to  Millard,  but  let  the  con 
versation  drop.  He  presently  regretted  this,  and  by  the 
time  Millard  had  reached  his  desk  he  was  recalled. 

"  You  understand  that  Mr.  Farnsworth  and  Meadows 
are  acting  in  concert  ?  " 

"  I  have  reason  to  think  so." 

"Do 'you  think  it  would  be  wise  to  make  Mr.  Farns 
worth  vice-president  ?  " 

Millard  turned  the  palms  of  his  hands  upward  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  made  no  other  reply  than  to 
add,  "  You  know  him  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  "Who  would  be  a  good  man  for  the  place  ?  " 

"  Have  you  thought  of  Hilbrough  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  would  bring  real  strength  to  the  bank  ;  and, 
Mr.  Millard,  there  is  one  promotion  I  have  long  had  in 


THE  BANK  OF  MANHADOES.  51 

mind,"  said  the  president.  "  You  ought  to  be  made  as 
sistant  cashier,  with  a  considerably  larger  salary  than  you 
have  been  getting." 

Millard  made  a  slight  bow.  "  I'm  sure  you  don't  ex 
pect  me  to  offer  serious  opposition  to  that  proposal." 
Then  he  could  not  refrain  from  adding,  "  I  believe  Mr. 
Farnsworth  and  Meadows  have  also  reached  that  conclu 
sion." 

There  was  no  opportunity  to  reply  to  this ;  Farns 
worth  was  heard  wheezing  outside  the  door. 

Masters  thought  rapidly  that  afternoon.  He  admitted 
to  himself,  as  he  had  hardly  done  before,  that  he  was 
growing  old  and  that  a  successful  bank  ought  to  have 
some  more  vigorous  man  than  he  in  its  management; 
some  man  of  ideas  more  liberal  than  Farnsworth's,  and  of 
more  age  and  experience  than  this  young  Millard.  His 
mind  turned  to  Hilbrough,  the  real-estate  agent  in  Mon 
tague  Street,  Brooklyn.  First  a  poor  clerk,  then  a  small 
collector  of  tenement-house  rents,  then  a  prosperous  real- 
estate  agent  and  operator  on  his  own  account,  he  had  come 
by  shrewd  investment  to  be  a  rich  man.  He  was  accus 
tomed  to  make  call  loans  to  a  large  amount  on  collateral 
security,  and  his  business  was  even  now  almost  that  of  a 
private  banker.  A  director  in  the  Bank  of  Manhadoes 
from  its  beginning  and  one  of  its  largest  stockholders,  he 
was  the  most  eligible  man  to  succeed  Masters  in  the  active 
management  of  its  affairs,  and  the  only  man  whose  elec 
tion  once  proposed  would  certainly  command  the  support 
of  the  directors  against  the  scheme  of  Farnsworth.  He 
was  the  one  possible  man  who  would  prove  quite  too  large 


52  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

for  Farnsworth's  domineering.  It  was  with  a  pang  that 
Masters  reflected  that  he  too  would  be  effaced  in  a  meas 
ure  by  the  advent  of  a  man  so  vital  as  Warren  Hil- 
brough ;  but  there  was  for  him  only  the  choice  between  be 
ing  effaced  by  Hilbrough's  superior  personality  and  being 
officially  put  out  of  the  way  by  Farnsworth's  process  of 
slow  torture.  He  saw,  too,  that  a  bank  with  four  high- 
grade  officers  wo  aid  have  a  more  stable  official  equilibrium 
than  one  where  the  power  is  shared  between  two.  The 
head  of  such  an  institution  is  sheltered  from  adverse  in 
trigues  by  the  counterpoise  of  the  several  officers  to  one 
another. 

If  Masters  had  needed  any -stimulus  to  his  resolution 
to  contravene  the  ambitious  plans  of  the  cashier,  Mrs. 
Masters  would  have  supplied  it.  When  she  heard  of 
Farnsworth's  scheme,  she  raised  again  her  old  cry  of  Car 
thago  delenda  est,  Farnsworth  must  be  put  out.  In  her 
opinion  nothing  else  would  meet  the  requirement  of 
poetic  justice;  but  she  despaired  of  persuading  Masters 
to  a  measure  so  extreme.  It  was  always  the  way.  Mr. 
Masters  was  too  meek  for  anything ;  he  would  let  people 
run  over  him. 

But  Masters  had  no  notion  of  being  run  over.  He 
went  to  the  office  every  day,  and  from  the  office  he  went 
to  his  country-place  in  New  Jersey  every  afternoon. 
There  was  nothing  in  his  actions  to  excite  the  suspicion 
of  the  cashier,  who  could  not  know  that  negotiations  with 
Hilbrough,  and  the  private  submission  of  the  proposition 
to  certain  directors,  had  all  been  intrusted  to  the  tact  of 
Charley  Millard.  It  was  rather  hard  on  Millard,  too  ;  for 


THE  BAXK  OF  MANIIADOES.  53 

though  he  enjoyed  his  success  in  an  undertaking  so  deli 
cate,  he  regretted  two  dinner  parties  and  one  desirable 
reception  that  he  was  compelled  to  forego  in  order  to 
carry  on  his  negotiations  out  of  bank  hours. 

The  day  before  the  directors  met,  Farnsworth  con 
fided  to  Millard  his  intention  to  have  him  made  assistant 
cashier.  Millard  said  that  if  Mr.  Masters  and  the  direct 
ors  should  agree  to  that  he  would  be  very  well  pleased. 
Considering  his  evident  loyalty  to  Masters,  Farnsworth 
did  not  think  it  wise  to  tell  Millard  anything  further. 

In  the  board  of  directors  Meadows  sat  with  a  more 
than  usually  defiant  face — with  a  face  which  showed  pre 
monitions  of  exultation.  Farnsworth  felt  sure  of  his 
game,  but  he  found  breathing  so  laborious  that  he  did 
not  show  any  emotion.  Masters  thought  it  best  to  soften 
the  humiliation  of  his  associate  as  much  as  possible  by 
forestalling  his  proposition.  So  at  the  first  moment  he 
suggested  to  the  directors  that  the  bank  needed  new 
force,  on  account  both  of  his  own  advancing  years  and  of 
Mr.  Farnsworth's  ill-health,  much  aggravated  by  his  ex 
cessive  industry.  He  therefore  proposed  to  have  Mr. 
Hilbrough  made  vice-president  with  the  same  salary  as 
that  paid  to  the  president,  to  add  a  thousand  to  the  cash 
ier's  salary,  and  to  promote  Mr.  Millard  to  be  assistant 
cashier  on  a  salary  of  five  thousand  a  year.  He  said  that 
the  prosperity  of  the  bank  justified  the  increased  expense, 
and  that  the  money  would  be  well  invested. 

Meadows  opposed  this  plan  as  extravagant.  He  fa 
vored  the  promotion  of  Mr.  Millard,  and  the  promotion 
of  Mr.  Farnsworth  to  be  vice-president,  leaving  the  cash- 


54:  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

iership  vacant  for  a  while.  Bat  the  directors,  accustomed 
to  follow  the  lead  of  Masters  and  Hilbrough,  and  sus 
picious  of  Meadows  as  habitually  factious,  voted  the 
president's  proposition. 

Earns  worth  went  home  and  to  bed.  Then  he.  asked 
for  a  vacation  and  went  South.  The  bank  officers  sent 
him  a  handsome  bouquet  when  he  sailed  away  on  the  Sa 
vannah  steamer ;  for  commerce  by  the  very  rudeness  of 
its  encounters  makes  men  forgiving.  In  business  it  is 
unprofitable  to  cherish  animosities,  and  contact  with  a 
great  variety  of  character  makes  business  men  usually 
more  tolerant  than  men  of  secluded  lives.  Farnsworth, 
for  his  part,  was  as  pleased  as  a  child  might  have  been 
with  the  attention  paid  him  on  his  departure,  and  Mrs. 
Farnsworth  was  delighted  that  her  husband  had  con 
sented  to  take  rest,  and  "  make  the  others  do  their  share 
of  the  work." 


V. 

THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  HILBROUGHS. 

OF  course  there  is  a  small  set  who  affect  not  to  min 
gle  freely  with  newly  prosperous  people  like  the  Hil- 
broughs.  These  are  they  in  whose  estimation  wealth 
and  distinction  only  gain  their  proper  flavor — their  bou 
quet,  so  to  speak — by  resting  stagnant  for  three  genera 
tions,  for  gentility,  like  game,  acquires  an  admirable 
highness  by  the  lapse  of  time.  Descendants  of  the  Lord 
knows  whom,  with  fortunes  made  the  devil  knows  how, 
fondly  imagine  that  a  village  storekeeper  who  has  risen 
to  affluence  is  somehow  inferior  to  the  grandson  of  a 
Dutch  sailor  who  amassed  a  fortune  by  illicit  trade  with 
the  Madagascar  pirates,  or  a  worse  trade  in  rum  and 
blackamoors  on  the  Guinea  coast,  and  that  a  quondam 
bookkeeper  who  has  fairly  won  position  and  money  by  his 
own  shrewdness  is  lower  down  than  the  lineal  descendant 
of  an  Indian  trader  who  waxed  great  by  first  treating  and 
then  cheating  shivering  Mohawks.  Which  only  shows 
that  we  are  prone  to  plant  ourselves  on  the  sound  tradi 
tions  of  ancestors ;  for  where  is  the  aristocracy  which 
does  not  regard  wealth  won  by  ancient  thievery  as  better 
than  money  modernly  earned  in  a  commonplace  way? 
But  among  a  gentry  so  numerous  and  so  democratic,  in 


56  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

spite  of  itself,  as  that  of  our  American  Babel,  exclusive- 
ness  works  discomfort  mainly  to  the  exclusive.  The  Hil 
broughs  are  agreeable  Americans,  their  suppers  are  pro 
vided  by  the  best  caterers,  their  house  lias  been  rendered 
attractive  by  bough  ten  taste,  and  the  company  one  sees 
there  is  not  more  stupid  than  that  in  other  miscellaneous 
assemblies. 

People  who  are  Livingstons  of  the  manor  on  their 
great-grandmother's  side,  and  Van  Something-or-others 
on  the  side  of  a  great-great-uncle  by  his  second  marriage, 
and  who  perhaps  have  never  chanced  to  be  asked  to  the 
Hilbroughs'  receptions,  shrug  their  shoulders,  and  tell 
you  that  they  do  not  know  them.  But  Mrs.  Hilbrough 
does  not  slight  such  families  because  of  the  colonialness 
of  their  ancestry.  Her  own  progenitors  came  to  America 
in  some  capacity  long  before  the  disagreement  about  the 
Stamp  Act,  though  they  were  not  brilliant  enough  to  buy 
small  kingdoms  from  the  Hudson  River  Indians  with 
jews'-harps  and  cast-iron  hatchets,  nor  supple  enough  to 
get  manor  lordships  by  bribes  to  royal  governors. 

I  suppose  the  advent  of  the  Hilbroughs  in  society 
might  be  dated  from  the  first  reception  they  gave  in  l^ew 
York,  though,  for  that  matter,  the  Hilbroughs  do  not 
take  pains  to  date  it  at  all.  For  it  is  a  rule  of  good  society 
that  as  soon  as  you  arrive  you  affect  to  have  always  been 
there.  Of  other  ascents  men  boast ;  of  social  success, 
rarely.  Your  millionaire,  for  example, — and  millionairism 
is  getting  so  common  as  to  be  almost  vulgar, — your  mill 
ionaire  never  tires  of  telling  you  how  he  worked  the  mul 
tiplication  table  until  cents  became  dimes,  and  dimes 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE   HILBROUGHS.  57 

well  sown  blossomed  presently  into  dollars,  till  hundreds 
swelled  to  hundreds  of  thousands,  and  the  man  who  had 
been  a  blithe  youth  but  twenty  years  before  became  the 
possessor  of  an  uneasy  tumor  he  calls  a  fortune.  Once 
this  narrative  is  begun  no  matter  that  you  beat  your 
breast  with  reluctance  to  hear  out  the  tedious  tale,  while 
loud  bassoons  perchance  are  calling  you  to  wedding  feasts. 
Pray  hear  the  modern  W  hitting  ton  with  patience,  good 
reader !  The  recital  of  this  story  is  his  main  consolation 
for  the  boredom  of  complicated  possession  in  which  his 
life  is  inextricably  involved — his  recoupment  for  the  irk 
some  vigilance  with  which  he  must  defend  his  hoard 
against  the  incessant  attacks  of  cheats  and  beggars,  sub 
scription  papers  and  poor  relations.  But  the  man  who 
has  won  his  way  in  that  illusive  sphere  we  call  society 
sends  to  swift  oblivion  all  his  processes.  In  society  no 
man  asks  another,  "  How  did  you  get  here  ? "  or  con 
gratulates  him  on  moving  among  better  people  than  he 
did  ten  years  ago.  Theoretically  society  is  stationary. 
Even  while  breathless  from  climbing,  the  newcomer 
affects  to  have  been  always  atop. 

Warren  Hilbrough's  family  had  risen  with  his  bet 
tered  circumstances  from  a  two-story  brick  in  Degraw 
street,  Brooklyn,  by  the  usual  stages  to  a  brownstone 
"  mansion  "  above  the  reservoir  in  New  York.  When  he 
came  to  be  vice-president  of  the  Bank  of  Manhadoes, 
Hilbrough  had  in  a  measure  reached  the  goal  of  his  am 
bition.  He  felt  that  he  could  slacken  the  strenuousness 
of  his  exertions  and  let  his  fortune  expand  naturally  un 
der  prudent  management.  But  Mrs.  Hilbrough  was  ten 


58  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

years  younger  than  her  husband,  and  her  ambition  was 
far  from  spent.  She  found  herself  only  on  the  threshold 
of  her  career.  In  Brooklyn  increasing  prosperity  had 
made  her  a  leader  in  church  fairs  and  entertainments. 
The  "  Church  Social "  had  often  assembled  at  her  house, 
and  she  had  given  a  reception  in  honor  of  the  minister 
when  he  came  back  from  the  Holy  Land — a  party  which 
the  society  reporter  of  the  "  Brooklyn  Daily  Eagle  "  had 
pronounced  "  a  brilliant  affair."  This  last  stroke  had  put 
her  at  the  head  of  her  little  world.  But  now  that  Hil- 
brough  was  vice-president  of  the  Bank  of  Manhadoes,  the 
new  business  relations  brought  her  invitations  from  be 
yond  the  little  planetary  system  that  revolved  around  the 
Reverend  Dr.  North.  It  became  a  question  of  making 
her  way  in  the  general  society  of  Brooklyn,  which  had 
long  drawn  its  members  from  the  genteel  quarters  of  the 
Heights,  the  Hill,  and  the  remoter  South  Brooklyn,  and, 
in  later  days,  also  from  Prospect  Park  Slope.  But  at  the 
houses  of  the  officers  of  the  bank  she  had  caught  some 
what  bewildering  vistas  of  those  involved  and  undefined 
circles  of  people  that  make  up  in  one  way  and  another 
metropolitan  society  on  the  New  York  side  of  East  River. 
Three  years  before  Hilbrough  entered  the  bank  his  fam 
ily  had  removed  into  a  new  house  in  South  Oxford  street, 
and  lately  they  had  contemplated  building  a  finer  dwell 
ing  on  the  Slope.  But  Mrs.  Hilbrough  in  a  moment  of 
inspiration  decided  to  omit  Brooklyn  and  to  persuade  her 
husband  to  remove  to  New  York.  There  would  be  many 
advantages  in  this  course.  In  New  York  her  smaller 
social  campaigns  were  unknown,  and  by  removal  she 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE   HILBROUGHS.  59 

would  be  able  to  readjust  with  less  difficulty  her  relations 
with  old  friends  in  Dr.  North's  congregation.  When 
one  goes  up  one  must  always  leave  somebody  behind ;  but 
crossing  the  river  would  give  her  a  clean  slate,  and  make 
it  easy  to  be  rid  of  old  scores  when  she  pleased.  So  it 
came  about  that  on  the  first  of  May  following  Ililbrough's 
accession  to  the  bank  the  family  in  a  carriage,  and  all 
their  belongings  on  trucks,  were  trundled  over  Fulton 
Ferry  to  begin  life  anew,  with  painted  walls,  more  expen 
sive  carpets,  and  twice  as  many  servants.  A  carriage 
with  a  coachman  in  livery  took  the  place  of  the  top- 
buggy  in  which,  by  twos,  and  sometimes  by  threes,  the 
Hilbroughs  had  been  wont  to  enjoy  Prospect  Park.  The 
Hilbrough  children  did  not  relish  this  part  of  the  change. 
The  boys  could  not  see  the  fun  of  sitting  with  folded 
hands  on  a  carriage  seat  while  they  rumbled  slowly 
through  Fifth  Avenue  and  Central  Park,  even  when  the 
Riverside  Park  was  thrown  in.  An  augmentation  of 
family  dignity  was  small  compensation  for  the  loss  of  the 
long  drive  between  the  quadruple  lines  of  maples  that 
shade  the  Ocean  Parkway  in  full  view  of  the  fast  trotting 
horses  which  made  a  whirling  maze  as  they  flew  past 
them  in  either  direction. 

"  There  was  some  fun  in  a  long  Saturday's  drive  to 
Coney  Island,  and  round  by  Fort  Hamilton  and  the  Nar 
rows,"  muttered  Jack,  as  the  horses  toiled  up  a  steep  in 
Central  Park  ;  "  this  here  is  about  as  amusing  as  riding  in 
a  black  maria  would  be." 

Ah,  Jack !  You  are  too  young  to  comprehend  the 
necessity  that  rests  upon  us  of  swelling  our  dignity  into 


60  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

some  proportion  to  a  growing  stock  balance.  It  is  irk 
some  this  living  on  stilts,  but  an  unfortunate  inability  to 
match  our  fortune  by  increasing  our  bulk  leaves  us  no 
alternative  but  to  augment  our  belongings  so  as  to  pre 
serve  the  fitness  of  things  at  any  cost.  There  is  as  yet 
no  Society  for  the  Emancipation  of  Princes,  and  the  Asso 
ciation  for  the  Amelioration  of  the  Condition  of  the  Chil 
dren  of  the  Rich  has  no  place  in  the  list  of  New  York 
philanthropies. 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  prudently  spent  her  first  winter  on 
Manhattan  Island  in  looking  about  her.  She  ventured  a 
dinner  company  two  or  three  times,  but  went  no  further. 
She  received  calls  from  the  wives  of  those  who  had,  and 
those  who  wished  to  have,  business  relations  with  her  hus 
band,  and  she  returned  them,  making  such  observations 
as  she  could  on  the  domestic  economy,  or  rather  the  do 
mestic  extravagance,  of  those  she  visited.  The  first  re 
sult  of  this  was  that  she  changed  her  door-boy.  The  fine- 
looking  mulatto  she  had  installed  in  imitation  of  some  of 
her  richer  Brooklyn  acquaintances  had  to  be  discharged. 
The  Anglomania  of  the  early  eighties  cruelly  abolished 
the  handsome  darky  hall- boy,  that  most  artistic  living 
bronze,  with  all  his  suggestion  of  barbaric  magnificence, 
and  all  his  Oriental  obsequiousness.  His  one  fault  was 
that  he  was  not  English.  Fashion  forbade  the  rich  to 
avail  themselves  of  one  of  the  finest  products  of  the 
country.  ,The  lackey  who  took  his  place  had  the  English 
superciliousness,  and  marked  the  advance  of  American 
civilization  by  adding  a  new  discomfort  and  deformity 
to  the  life  of  people  of  fashion. 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  IIILBROUGHS.  61 

The  minister  of  the  church  in  which  the  Hilbroughs 
had  taken  pews  sent  his  wife  to  call  on  Mrs.  Hilbrough, 
and  two  of  the  church  officers,  knowing  the  value  of  such 
an  acquisition  to  the  church,  showed  their  Christain  feel 
ing  in  the  same  way.  Many  of  her  old  Degraw  street  and 
South  Oxford  street  friends  called  at  the  new  house,  their 
affection  being  quickened  by  a  desire  "  to  see  what  sort 
of  style  the  Hilbroughs  are  putting  on  now."  Some  of 
her  Brooklyn  calls  she  returned  out  of  a  positive  liking 
for  good  old  friends,  some  because  the  callers  were  those 
who  could  introduce  her  to  people  she  desired  to  know  in 
New  York.  She  excused  herself  from  calling  on  the 
most  of  her  trans-East-River  acquaintances  by  urging 
that  it  is  so  much  farther  from  New  York  to  Brooklyn 
than  it  is  from  Brooklyn  to  New  York,  you  know.  She 
attended  several  large  evening  receptions  in  New  York, 
and  drank  five  o'clock  tea  at  six  in  the  evening  at  a  good 
many  places.  She  thus  made  acquaintances,  while  with  a 
clever  woman's  tact  she  kept  her  wits  about  her  and  be 
gan  to  "  get  the  hang  of  the  thing,"  as  she  expressed  it 
to  one  of  her  confidential  friends.  Meantime  she  was  as 
constant  in  her  attendance  at  the  opera  as  she  had  been 
at  the  prayer-meeting  in  former  days. 

It  was  at  the  beginning  of  her  second  winter  in  New 
York  that  she  served  notice  on  Hilbrough  that  she  meant 
to  give  a  reception ;  or,  as  she  put  it,  "  We  must  give  a 
reception."  The  children  had  gone  to  school,  the  butler 
was  otherwise  engaged,  and  there  was  nobody  but  a 
waitress  present. 

Hilbrough's  face   was  of  that   sunny,  sanguine   sort 


62  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

which  always  seems  to  indicate  that  things  are  booming, 
to  borrow  a  phrase  from  our  modern  argot.  His  plump, 
cheery  countenance,  and  the  buoyant  spontaneity  of  his 
laugh,  inspired  a  confidence  which  had  floated  his  craft 
over  more  than  one  financial  shoal.  But  when  Mrs.  Hil- 
brough  proposed  a  reception,  just  as  he  finished  his  coffee, 
he  became  meditative,  leaned  his  two  large  arms  on  the 
table,  and  made  a  careful  inspection  of  the  china  cup : 
his  wife — Brooklyn  woman  that  she  was — had  lately 
made  a  journey  across  the  new  bridge  to  buy  the  set  at 
Ovington's. 

"  You  don't  mean  one  of  those  stupid  crushes,"  he 
began,  "where  all  the  people  outside  are  trying  to  butt 
their  way  in,  and  all  those  inside  are  wishing  to  heaven 
that  they  were  well  out  again  —  like  so  many  June 
bugs  and  millers  on  a  summer  night  bumping  against 
both  sides  of  a  window  with  a  candle  in  it? "  Hilbrough 
finished  with  a  humorous  little  chuckle  at  his  own  com 
parison. 

"  Well,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  firmly,  "  a  reception 
is  the  thing  to  give.  We  owe  it  to  our  social  position." 

"  Social  position  be  hanged  !  "  said  Hilbrough,  half  in 
vexation,  but  still  laughing,  while  his  wife  tried  by  frown 
ing  to  remind  him  that  the  use  of  such  words  in  the 
presence  of  a  servant  was  very  improper. 

"  It  seems  as  though  I  never  could  get  square  with 
that  thing  you  call  social  position.  I  pay  all  my  other 
debts  and  take  receipts  in  full,  but  the  more  money  we 
have  the  more  we  owe  to  social  position.  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  suspend  payment  for  a  while  and  let  social  posi- 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  HILBROUGIIS.  63 

tion  go  to  smash.  I  detest  a  reception.  I  don't  mind 
a  nice  little  gathering  of  good  friendly  folks  such  as  we 
used  to  have  in  Degraw  street  at  the  church  socials — 

"  Church  socials  !  " 

His  wife's  interruption  took  Hilbrough's  breath.  She 
muttered  rather  than  spoke  these  few  words,  but  with  a 
contemptuousness  of  inflection  that  was  most  expressive. 
Hilbrough  was  left  in  some  doubt  as  to  whether  all  the 
contempt  was  intended  for  the  church  socials  in  Degraw 
street,  or  whether  a  part  of  it  might  not  be  meant  for 
a  husband  whose  mind  had  not  kept  pace  with  his  for 
tune. 

"  I  am  sure  there  was  real  enjoyment  in  a  church 
social,"  he  said,  with  a  deprecating  laugh,  "  to  say  noth 
ing  of  the  money  raised  to  recarpet  the  church  aisles. 
And  I  confess  I  rather  enjoyed  the  party  you  gave  in 
Oxford  street  when  Dr,  North  got  back  from  the  Holy 
Land." 

While  Hilbrough  was  making  this  speech  his  wife 
had,  by  dumb  show,  ordered  the  waitress  to  take  some 
thing  down-stairs,  in  order  that  there  might  be  no  listener 
to  Hilbrough's  autobiographical  reminiscences  but  her 
self. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  she  said,  taking  a  conciliatory  tone, 
"  our  walk  in  life  has  changed,  and  we  must  adapt  our 
selves  to  our  surroundings.  You  know  you  always  said 
that  we  ought  to  do  our  share  toward  promoting  socia 
bility." 

"  Sociability ! "  It  was  Hilbrough's  turn  now.  His 
laugh  had  a  note  of  derision  in  it.  "  W'y,  my  dear,  there 


64:  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

is  rather  more  sociability  in  a  cue  of  depositors  at  the 
teller's  window  of  an  afternoon  than  there  was  at  Mrs. 
Master's  reception  last  winter." 

"  Well,  don't  let's  argue.  I  hate  arguments  of  all 
things." 

"  Most  people  do,  when  they  get  the  worst  of  them," 
rejoined  Hilbrough,  merrily. 

"  You  are  positively  rude,"  pouted  Mrs.  Hilbrough, 
rising  from  the  table.  If  she  hated  arguments,  her  hus 
band  hated  tiffs,  and  her  look  of  reproach  accomplished 
what  her  arguments  could  not.  Hilbrough  knew  that  at 
the  game  of  injured  innocence  he  was  no  match  for  his 
wife.  The  question  in  his  mind  now  was  to  find  a  line 
of  retreat. 

"  You  ought  to  have  more  consideration  for  my  feel 
ings,  Warren,"  she  went  on.  "  Besides,  you  know  you  said 
that  whatever  widened  our  acquaintance  was  likely  to  do 
the  bank  good.  You  know  you  did." 

"  So  I  did,  my  dear ;  so  I  did,"  he  answered,  sooth 
ingly,  as  he  rose  from  the  table  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  There's  one  comfort,  anyhow.  You  don't  know  a  great 
many  people  on  this  side  of  the  river  yet,  and  so  I  guess 
I  sha'n't  have  to  put  hoops  on  the  house  this  time,  unless 
you  fetch  all  Brooklyn  across  the  new  bridge." 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  did  not  care  to  contradict  her  hus 
band  now  that  he  had  relented.  But  as  for  crowding  the 
house  she  felt  sure  there  was  a  way  to  do  it,  if  she  could 
only  find  it,  and  she  was  resolved  not  to  have  fewer  people 
than  Mrs.  Masters,  and  that  without  depleting  Brooklyn. 

What  she  needed  was  an  adviser.     She  went  over  the 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE   HILBROUGHS.  65 

bead-roll  of  her  acquaintance  and  found  nobody  eligible. 
Those  who  could  have  pointed  out  to  her  what  were  the 
proper  steps  to  take  in  such  a  case  were  just  the  people 
to  whom  she  was  not  willing  to  expose  herself  in  her  un 
fledged  condition.  At  last  she  felt  obliged  to  ask  Mr. 
Hilbrough  about  it. 

"  Don't  you  know  somebody,  my  dear,  who  knows 
New  York  better  than  I  do,  who  could  give  me  advice 
about  our  reception?"  This  was  her  opening  of  the 
matter  as  she  sat  crocheting  by  the  glowing  grate  of  an 
thracite  in  the  large  front  room  on  the  second  floor,  while 
her  husband  smoked,  and  read  his  evening  paper. 

"  I  ?  How  should  I  know  ?  "  he  said,  laying  down 
the  paper.  "  I  don't  know  many  New  York  ladies." 

"  Not  a  woman !  I  mean  some  man.  You  can't 
speak  to  a  woman  about  such  things  so  well  as  you  can 
to  a  man ;  "  and  she  spread  her  fancy-work  out  over  her 
knee  and  turned  her  head  on  one  side  to  get  a  good  view 
of  its  general  eifect. 

"  I  should  think  you  would  rather  confide  in  a 
woman."  Hilbrough  looked  puzzled  and  curious  as  he 
said  this. 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  said.  "  A  woman  doesn't 
like  to  give  herself  away  to  another  woman.  Women 
always  think  you  ridiculous  if  you  don't  understand 
everything,  and  they  remember  and  talk  about  it.  But  a 
man  likes  to  give  information  to  a  woman.  I  suppose 
men  like  to  have  a  woman  look  up  to  them."  Mrs.  Hil 
brough  laughed  at  the  explanation,  which  was  not  quite 
satisfactory  to  herself. 


QQ  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  Well,"  said  Hilbrough,  after  a  minute's  amused 
meditation,  "  the  men  I  know  are  all  like  me.  They 
are  business  men,  and  are  rather  dragged  into  society,  I 
suppose,  by  their  wives,  and  by  " — he  chuckled  merrily 
at  this  point — "  by  the  debts  they  owe  to  social  position, 
you  know.  I  don't  believe  there's  a  man  in  the  bank 
that  wouldn't  be  as  likely  to  ask  me  about  what  coat  he 
ought  to  wear  on  any  occasion  as  to  give  me  any  infor 
mation  on  the  subject.  Yes,  there  is  one  man.  That's 
young  Jfi71ard,  or  MiUar^,  as  he  calls  it.  He's  a  sort  of 
a  dude,  and  I  never  could  stand  dudes.  I  asked  Mr. 
Masters  the  other  day  whether  the  assistant  cashier  was 
worth  so  large  a  salary  as  five  thousand  dollars,  and  he 
said  that  that  man  had  the  entry — the  ontray,  as  he  called 
it — to  the  best  houses  in  New  York.  He's  cheek  by  jowl 
with  a  dozen  of  the  richest  men,  he's  invited  everywhere, 
and  is  considered  a  great  authority  on  all  matters  of  that 
kind.  He  brings  some  business  to  the  bank,  and  he's  one 
of  the  best  judges  in  New  York  of  a  man's  character  and 
responsibility.  He  knows  all  about  pretty  nearly  every 
man  whose  note  is  presented  for  discount,  and,  if  he  does 
not  know  at  once,  he  can  generally  find  out  in  an  hour. 
I  believe  he  could  tell  us  the  name  of  the  grandmother  of 
almost  every  prominent  depositor  if  we  wished  to  know, 
and  how  every  man  got  his  money." 

"  Is  he  rich  ?  " 

"  Well,  nobody  seems  to  know  for  certain.  He  has  a 
large  slice  of  the  bank's  stock,  and  he's  known  to  have 
good  investments  outside.  He's  well  enough  off  to  live 
without  his  salary  if  he  wanted  to.  But  I  am  pretty 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  HILBROUGHS.     67 

sure  lie  isn't  rich.  Belongs  to  some  old  family,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  I  should  be  afraid  of  him,"  said  Mrs.  Hilbrough, 
ruefully. 

"  You  needn't  be.  He's  a  good  enough  sort  of  fellow 
if  he  only  wouldn't  part  his  hair  in  the  middle.  I  can't 
abide  that  in  a  man.  But  it's  no  use  being  afraid  of  him. 
He  probably  knows  all  about  you  and  me  already.  He 
first  came  to  see  me  about  coming  into  the  bank,  and  I 
don't  know  but  it  was  his  move  to  get  me." 

"  Would  he  come  up  to  dinner  some  evening  ?  " 

"  He'd  rather  like  to  oblige  me.  I'll  have  to  get  him 
when  he's  disengaged.  What  shall  I  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  that  Mrs.  Hilbrough  wishes  his  advice,  and 
would  be  glad  if  he  would  come  to  dinner  with  us  some 


evening." 


"  Why  do  I  need  to  say  anything  about  your  wanting 
advice  ?  I  don't  just  like  to  ask  a  favor  of  such  a  dude. 
I'll  ask  him  to  dinner,  and  you  can  ask  his  advice  as 
though  by  accident." 

"  No ;  that  won't  do.  That  kind  of  man  would  see 
through  it  all.  Tell  him  that  I  wish  his  advice.  That 
will  show  him  that  I  recognize  his  position  as  an  author 
ity.  He'll  like  that  better." 

Warren  Hilbrough  suddenly  discovered  that  his  wife 
was  cleverer— or,  as  he  would  have  said,  "  smarter  "—than 
he  had  thought  her. 

"  You  are  a  good  hand,  Jenny,"  he  said.  "  You'll 
win  your  game."  And  after  he  had  resumed  the  reading 
of  his  paper  he  looked  over  the  top  of  it  once  or  twice 


68  THE   FAITH  DOCTOR. 

in  furtive  admiration  of  her  as  she  sat  between  him  and 
the  dark  portiere,  which  set  her  form  in  relief  against  the 
rich  background  and  made  her  seem  a  picture  to  the  fond 
eyes  of  her  husband.  He  reflected  that  perhaps  after  all 
managing  church  fairs  and  running  sewing  societies  was 
no  bad  training  for  a  larger  social  activity. 


VI. 

PHILLIDA  CALLENDER. 

"  HILBROUGH  has  sent  for  me,"  said  Millard  to  Philip 
Gouverneur,  who  was  sitting  so  as  to  draw  his  small  form 
into  the  easy-chair  as  he  smoked  by  the  open  fire  in  the 
newspaper  room  at  the  Terrapin  Club.  Millard,  who 
had  never  liked  tobacco,  was  pretending  to  smoke  a  ciga 
rette  because  smoking  seemed  to  him  the  right  thing  to 
do.  He  had  no  taste  for  any  more  desperate  vice,  and 
tobacco  smoke  served  to  take  the  gloss  off  a  character 
which  seemed  too  highly  finished  for  artistic  effect. 

"  Hilbrough  "  —  Charley  smiled  as  he  recalled  it — 
"  always  gets  uneasy  when  he's  talking  to  me.  He  takes 
his  foot  off  the  chair  and  puts  it  on  the  floor.  Then  he 
throws  himself  forward  on  the  table  with  his  elbows  out 
ward,  and  then  he  straightens  up.  He's  a  jolly  kind  of 
man,  though,  and  a  good  banker.  But  his  wife— she  is 
the  daughter  of  a  Yankee  school-teacher  that  taught  in 
Brooklyn  till  he  died— is  a  vigorous  little  woman.  She 
hasn't  come  to  New  York  to  live  quietly.  She's  been 
head  and  front  of  her  set  in  Brooklyn,  and  the  Lord 
knows  what  she  won't  undertake  now  that  Hilbrough's 
getting  rich  very  fast.  I  haven't  seen  her  yet,  but  I 
rather  like  her  in  advance.  She  didn't  try  to  trap  me 


70  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

into  an  acquaintance,  but  sent  me  word  that  she  wanted 
advice.  There's  a  woman  who  knows  what  she  wants, 
and  goes  for  it  with  a  clear  head.  But  what  can  I  do  for 
her  ?  She'll  be  wanting  to  give  a  tea  or  a  ball  before  she 
has  acquaintances  enough.  It's  awfully  ticklish  making 
such  people  understand  that  they  must  go  slow  and  take 
what  they  can  get  to  begin  with." 

"  Why,"  said  Gouverneur,  "  you  can  tell  her  to  take 
the  religious  or  moral  reform  dodge,  and  invite  all  the 
friends  of  some  cause  to  meet  some  distinguished  leader 
of  that  cause.  Bishop  Whipple,  if  she  could  capture 
him,  would  bring  all  the  Friends  of  the  Red  Man,  just  as 
Miss  Willard  or  Mrs.  Livermore  would  fetch  the  tem 
perance  and  woman-suffrage  people.  You  remember  the 
converted  Hindu  princess  they  had  over  here  last  winter  ? 
Between  her  rank,  and  her  piety,  and  her  coming  from 
the  antipodes,  and  her  heathen  antecedents,  she  drew 
beautifully.  Fine  woman,  too.  Even  my  mother  for 
gave  her  for  not  having  a  drop  of  Dutch  or  Revolution 
ary  blood  in  her  veins,  and  we  all  liked  her  very  much. 
Give  Mrs.  Hilbrough  that  tip." 

Millard  shook  his  head,  and  smiled.  He  had  the  ap 
preciative  smile  of  a  man  with  a  genius  for  listening, 
which  is  a  better,  because  a  rarer,  contribution  to  conver 
sation  than  good  speech.  Philip,  crouched  in  his  chair 
with  his  face  averted  from  the  electric  lights,  went  on : 

"  Well,  then  you  know  there  is  the  literary  dodge. 
Have  papers  read,  not  enough  to  bore  people  too  deeply, 
but  to  bore  them  just  enough  to  give  those  who  attend 
an  impression  of  intellectuality.  >  Have  discussions  of  lit- 

sj 


PHILLIDA  CALLENDER.  71 

erary  questions,  seasoned  with  stewed  terrapin,  and  dec 
orated  with  dress  coats  and  external  anatomy  gowns. 
Those  who  go  to  such  places  flatter  themselves  that  they 
are  getting  into  literary  circles  and  improving  their 
minds,  especially  if  a  popular  magazinist  or  the  son  of 
some  great  author  can  be  persuaded  to  read  one  of  his 
rejected  articles  or  to  make  a  few  remarks  now  and  then. 
v/Then  there  is  the  musical  dodge  on  the  drawing-room 
scale,  or  by  wholesale,  like  the  Seidl  Society,  for  exam 
ple.  One  is  able  by  this  means  to  promote  a  beautiful  art 
and  increase  one's  social  conspicuousness  at  the  same 
time.  Then  there  is  the  distinguished-foreigner  dodge, 
give  a  reception  in  honor  of — " 

"  Hang  it,  Philip ;  I'll  tell  Mrs.  Hilbrough  to  send  for 
you,"  said  Millard,  laughing  as  he  got  up  and  threw  his 
cigarette  into  the  grate.  "  I  don't  like  to  interrupt  your 
lecture,  but  it's  eleven  o'clock,  and  I'm  going  home. 
Good-night." 

Philip  sat  there  alone  and  listened  to  the  rain  against 
the  windows,  and  smoked  until  his  cigar  went  out.  The 
mere  turning  of  things  over  in  his  mind,  and  tacking 
witty  labels  to  them,  afforded  so  much  amusement  that 
inactivity  and  revery  were  his  favorite  indulgences. 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  gave  a  good  deal  of  thought  to  her 
dinner  on  the  next  evening  after  the  conversation  be 
tween  Philip  Gouverneur  and  Millard.  To  have  it  ele 
gant,  and  yet  not  to  appear  vulgar  by  making  too  much 
fuss  over  a  dinner  en  famille,  taxed  her  thought  and 
taste.  Half  an  hour  before  dinner  she  met  her  husband 
with  a  perturbed  face. 


72  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  It's  too  bad  that  Phillida  Callender  should  have  come 
this  evening.  That's  just  the  way  with  an  indefinite 
invitation.  Poor  girl,  I've  been  asking  her  to  come  any 
evening,  and  now  she  has  hit  on  the  only  one  in  the  year 
on  which  I  would  rather  she  should  have  stayed  at  home." 
"  I'm  sure  Phillida  is  nice  enough  for  anybody,"  said 
Hilbrough,  sturdily.  "  I  don't  see  how  she  interferes 
with  your  plan." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Millard'll  think  I've  asked  her  specially  to 
help  entertain  him,  and  Phillida  is  so  peculiar.  She's 
nobody  in  particular,  socially,  and  it  will  seem  an  unskill 
ful  thing  to  have  asked  her — and  then  she  has  ideas. 
Young  girls  with  notions  of  their  own  are — well — you 
know." 

"Yes,  I  know,  home-made  ideas  are  a  little  out  of 
fashion,"  laughed  Hilbrough.  "  But  I'll  bet  he  likes  her. 
Millard  isn't  a  fool  if  he  does  part  his  hair  in  the  middle 
and  carry  his  cane  balanced  in  his  fingers  like  a  pair  of 
steelyards." 

"  If  he  takes  me  to  dinner,  you  must  follow  with  Phil 
lida.  Give  your  left  arm — " 

"  I'll  feel  like  a  fool  escorting  Phillida—" 
"  But  you  must  if  Mr.  Millard  escorts  me." 
Hilbrough  could  have  cursed  Millard.    He  hated  what 
he  called  "  flummery."     Why   couldn't   people   walk   to 
the  table  without  hooking  themselves  together,  and  why 
couldn't  they  eat  their  food  without  nonsense  ?     But  he 
showed  his  vexation  in  a  characteristic  way  by  laughing 
inwardly  at  his  wife   and   Millard,  and  most  of  all  at 
himself  for  an  old  fool. 


PHILL1DA   CALLENDER.  73 

Phillida  Callender  was  the  daughter  of  a  Presbyterian 
minister  who  had  gone  as  missionary  to  one  of  the  Ori 
ental  countries.  After  years  of  life  in  the  East,  Mr.  Cal 
lender  had  returned  to  America  on  account  of  his  wife's 
health,  and  had  settled  in  Brooklyn.  If  illusions  of  his 
youth  had  been  dispelled  in  the  attempt  to  convert  Ori 
entals  to  a  belief  in  the  Shorter  Catechism  he  never  con 
fessed  it,  even  to  himself,  and  he  cherished  the  notion 
that  he  would  some  day  return  to  his  missionary  vocation. 
The  family  had  an  income  from  the  rent  of  a  house  in 
New  York  that  had  been  inherited  by  Mrs.  Callender, 
and  the  husband  received  considerable  sums  for  supplying 
the  pulpits  of  vacant  churches.  He  had  occupied  the 
pulpit  of  the  church  that  the  Hilbroughs  attended  during 
the  whole  time  of  Dr.  North's  journey  to  the  Holy  Land, 
and  had  thus  come  into  a  half-pastoral  relation  to  the 
Hilbrough  family.  Mr.  Callender  sickened  and  died ; 
the  fragile  wife  and  two  daughters  were  left  to  plan  their 
lives  without  him.  The  sudden  shock  and  the  new  draft 
upon  Mrs.  Callender's  energies  had  completed  her  resto 
ration  to  a  tolerable  degree  of  health  and  activity.  Be 
tween  the  elder  daughter,  whom  the  father  had  fancifully 
named  Phillida,  from  the  leafy  grove  in  which  stood  the 
house  where  she  was  born,  and  Mrs.  Hilbrough  there  had 
grown  up  a  friendship  in  spite  of  the  difference  in  age 
and  temperament — a  friendship  that  had  survived  the 
shock  of  prosperity.  Lately  the  Callenders  had  found  it 
prudent  to  remove  to  their  house  situate  in  the  region 
near  Second  Avenue  below  Fourteenth  Street,  a  quarter 
which,  having  once  been  fashionable,  abides  now  in  the 


74  TEIE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

merest  twilight  of  its  former  grandeur.  The  letting  of 
the  upper  rooms  of  the  house  was  a  main  source  of  in 
come. 

Born  in  Siam,  bred  in  a  family  pervaded  with  re 
ligious  and  propagandist  ideas,  and  having  led  a  half- 
recluse  life,  Phillida  Callender  did  not  seem  to  Mrs.  Hil- 
brough  just  the  sort  of  person  to  entertain  a  man  of  the 
world. 

When  dinner  was  announced  Millard  did  give  Mrs. 
Hilbrough  his  arm,  and  Phillida  was  startled  and  amused, 
when  Mr.  Hilbrough,  after  pausing  an  instant  to  remem 
ber  which  of  his  stout  arms  he  was  to  offer,  presented  his 
left  elbow.  Despite  much  internal  levity  and  external 
clumsiness,  Hilbrough  played  his  role  to  the  satisfaction 
of  his  anxious  wife,  and  Phillida  looked  at  him  inquir 
ingly  after  she  was  seated  as  though  to  discover  what 
transformation  had  taken  place  in  him. 

Millard  could  not  but  feel  curious  about  the  fine- 
looking,  dark  young  woman  opposite  him.  But  with  his 
unfailing  sense  of  propriety  he  gave  the  major  part  of 
his  attention  to  the  elder  lady,  and,  without  uttering  one 
word  of  flattery,  he  contrived,  by  listening  well,  and  by 
an  almost  undivided  attention  to  her  when  he  spoke,-  to 
make  Mrs.  Hilbrough  very  content  with  herself,  her  din 
ner,  and  her  guest.  This  is  the  sort  of  politeness  not 
acquired  in  dancing-school  nor  learned  in  books  of  de 
corum  ;  it  is  art,  and  of  all  the  fine  arts  perhaps  the  one 
that  gives  the  most  substantial  pleasure  to  human  beings 
in  general.  Even  Hilbrough  was  pleased  with  Millard's 
appreciation  of  Mrs.  Hilbrough ;  to  think  well  of  Jenny 


PIIILLIDA  CALLENDER.  75 

was  an  evidence  of  sound  judgment,  like  the  making  of  a 
prudent  investment. 

Meantime  Millard  somewhat  furtively  observed  Miss 
Callender.  From  the  small  contributions  she  made  to 
the  table-talk,  she  seemed,  to  him,  rather  out  of  the  com 
mon  run.  Those  little  touches  of  inflection  and  gesture, 
which  one  woman  in  society  picks  up  from  another,  and 
which  are  the  most  evanescent  bubbles  of  fashion,  were 
wanting  in  her,  and  this  convinced  him  that  she  was  not 
accustomed  to  see  much  of  the  world.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  was  no  lack  of  refinement  either  in  speech  or 
manner.  That  disagreeable  quality  in  the  voice  which  in 
an  American  woman  is  often  the  most  easily  perceptible 
note  of  underbreeding  was  not  there.  Her  speech  was 
correct  without  eifort,  as  of  one  accustomed  to  hear  good 
English  from  infancy ;  her  voice  in  conversation  was  an 
alto,  with  something  sympathetic  in  its  vibration,  as 
though  a  powerful  emotional  nature  lay  dormant  under 
the  calm  exterior.  Millard  was  not  the  person  to  formu 
late  this,  but  with  very  little  direct  conversation  he  per 
ceived  that  she  was  outside  the  category  to  which  he  was 
accustomed,  and  that  her  personality  might  prove  inter 
esting,  if  one  had  an  opportunity  of  knowing  it.  He 
reasoned  that  with  such  a  voice  she  ought  to  be  fond  of 
music. 

"  Have  you  heard  much  of  Wagner,  Miss  Callender?"  >. 
he  said  when  there  was  a  pause  in  the  conversation.     He 
felt  before  he  had  finished  the  question  that  it  was  a  false 
beginning,  and  he  was  helped  to  this  perception  by  a 
movement  of  uneasiness  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Hilbrough, 


Y6  THE   FAITH  DOCTOR. 

who  was  afraid  that  Phillida's  disqualifications  might  be 
too  plainly  revealed.  But  if  Mrs.  Hilbrough  was  ren 
dered  uneasy  by  the  question,  Phillida  was  not.  She 
turned  her  dark  eyes  upon  Millard,  and  smiled  with 
genuine  amusement  as  she  answered : 

"  I  have  heard  but  one  opera  in  my  life,  Mr.  Millard, 
and  that  was  not  Wagner's." 

"  Miss  Callender,"  said  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  quickly,  "  is 
one  who  has  sacrificed  social  opportunities  to  her  care  for 
an  invalid  mother — a  great  sacrifice  to  one  at  her  time  of 
life." 

"I  don't  think  I  have  sacrificed  much,"  answered 
Phillida  with  a  trace  of  embarrassment.  "  My  social 
opportunities  could  not  have  been  many  at  best,  and  I 
would  rather  have  led," — she  hesitated  a  moment, — "  I 
don't  know  but  I  would  rather  have  led  my  quiet  life 
than — the  other." 

In  her  effort  to  say  this  so  as  neither  to  boast  of  her 
own  pursuits  nor  to  condemn  those  of  others,  Miss  Callen- 
der's  color  was  a  little  heightened.  Millard  was  sorry 
that  his  innocent  question  had  led  the  conversation  into 
channels  so  personal.  Mrs.  Hilbrough  was  inwardly  vexed 
that  Phillida  should  be  so  frank,  and  express  views  so 
opposed  to  those  of  good  society. 

"  You  find  Brooklyn  a  pleasant  place  to  live,  no 
doubt,"  said  Millard,  taking  it  for  granted  that  Phillida 
was  from  Brooklyn,  because  of  her  friendship  for  the 
Hilbroughs. 

"I  liked  it  when  we  lived  there.  I  like  New 
York  very  well.  My  relatives  all  live  on  this  side 


PHILLIDA   CALLENDER.  77 

of  East  River,  and  so  I  am  rather  more  at  home 
here." 

"Then  you  don't  find  New  York  lonesome,"  said 
Millard,  with  a  falling  cadence,  seeking  to  drop  the  con 
versation. 

"  Oh,  no !  I  live  near  Stuyvesant  Square,  and  I  have 
an  aunt  in  Washington  Square  of  whom  I  am  very 
fond." 

"I  am  often  at  the  Gouverneurs,  on  the  north  side  of 
the  Square.  I  like  ^Yashmgton  Square  very  much,"  said 
Millard,  getting  on  solid  ground  again. 

"  We  visit  at  the  same  house.  Mrs.  Gouverneur  is  my 
aunt,"  said  Phillida. 

Millard  was  a  little  stunned  at  this  announcement. 
But  his  habitual  tact  kept  him  from  disclosing  his  sur 
prise  at  finding  Miss  Calender's  affiliations  better  than 
he  could  have  imagined.  He  only  said  with  unaffected 
pleasure  in  his  voice : 

"  The  Gouverneurs  are  the  best  of  people  and  my  best 
friends." 

Mr.  Hilbrough  looked  in  amusement  at  his  wife,  who 
was  manifestly  pleased  to  find  that  in  Phillida  she  was 
entertaining  an  angel  unawares.  Millard 's  passion  for 
personal  details  came  to  his  relief. 

"  Mrs.  Gouverneur,"  he  said,  "  had  a  brother  and  two 
sisters.  You  must  be  the  daughter  of  one  of  her  sisters. 
One  lives,  or  used  to  live,  in  San  Francisco,  and  the  other 
married  a  missionary." 

"I  am  the  missionary's  daughter,"  said  Phillida. 

Millard  felt  impelled  to  redeem  his  default  by  saying 


78  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

something  to  Miss  Callender  about  the  antiquity  and  ex 
cellence  of  her  mother's  family.  If  he  had  been  less 
skillful  than  he  was  he  might  have  given  way  to  this 
impulse ;  but  with  the  knack  of  a  conversational  artist 
he  contrived  in  talking  chiefly  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough  to  lead 
the  conversation  to  Miss  Calender's  distinguished  great 
grandfather  of  the  Kevolutionary  period,  who  was  sup 
posed  to  shed  an  ever-brightening  luster  all  the  way  down 
the  line  of  his  family,  and  Millard  added  some  traditional 
anecdotes  of  other  ancestors  of  her  family  on  the  mother's 
side  who  had  played  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  commer 
cial  or  civic  history  of  New  York.  All  of  which  was 
flattering  to  Miss  Callender,  the  more  that  it  seemed  to 
be  uttered  in  the  way  of  general  conversation  and  with  no 
particular  reference  to  her. 

Hilbrough  listened  with  much  interest  to  this  very 
creditable  account  of  Phillida's  illustrious  descent,  and 
longed  for  the  time  when  he  should  have  the  fun  of  re 
minding  his  wife  that  he  had  held  the  opinion  from  the 
beginning  that  Phillida  Callender  was  good  enough  for 
anybody. 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  took  Phillida  and  left  the  table,  Mr. 
Hilbrough  rising  as  the  ladies  passed  out,  as  he  had  been 
instructed.  When  he  and  Millard  had  resumed  their 
seats  the  cigars  were  brought,  but  when  Millard  saw  that 
his  host  did  not  smoke  he  did  not  see  why  he  should 
punish  himself  with  a  cigar  and  a  tete-a-tete  with  Hil 
brough,  whom  he  could  see  any  day  at  the  bank.  So  by 
agreement  the  sitting  was  soon  cut  short,  and  the  gentle 
men  followed  the  ladies  to  the  drawing-room.  Mrs.  Hil- 


PHILLIDA   CALLENDER.  79 

brough  had  planned  a  conversation  with  Millard  about 
her  reception  while  Phillida  should  be  left  to  talk  with 
Mr.  Hilbrough.  But  Phillida's  position  had  been  changed 
during  dinner.  Mrs.  Ililbrough  found  a  new  card  in  her 
hand.  She  drew  Miss  Callender  into  the  talk  about  the 
reception,  leaving  her  husband  to  excuse  himself,  and 
to  climb  the  stairs  to  the  third  floor,  as  was  his  wont, 
to  see  that  the  children  had  gone  to  bed  well  and 
were  not  quarreling,  and  to  have  a  few  cheery  words 
with  Jack  and  the  smaller  ones  before  they  went  to 
sleep.  Receptions  were  nothing  to  him :  the  beds  on 
the  third  floor  contained  the  greater  part  of  the 
world. 

Millard  was  relieved  to  find  that  Mrs.  Hilbrough  pro 
posed  nothing  more  ambitious  than  an  evening  reception. 
He  commended  her  for  beginning  in  new  surroundings 
in  this  way. 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Hilbrough,"  he  said,  "  a  reception 
seems  to  me  more  flexible  than  a  ball.  It  is,  in  a  sense, 
more  democratic.  There  are  many  good  people — people 
of  some  position — who  do  not  care  to  attend  a  ball,  who 
would  be  out  of  place  at  a  ball,  indeed,  which  should  be  a 
very  fashionable  assembly.  The  party  with  dancing  can 
come  after." 

This  commendation  had  an  effect  opposite  to  that  in 
tended.  Mrs.  Ililbrough  hadn't  thought  of  a  ball,  and 
she  now  suspected  that  she  was  going  wrong.  In  pro 
posing  a  reception  she  was  imitating  Mrs.  Masters,  and 
she  had  fancied  herself  doing  the  most  proper  thing  of 
all.  To  have  a  reception  called  democratic,  and  treated 


80  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

as  something  comparatively  easy  of  achievement,  dis 
turbed  her. 

"  If  you  think  a  reception  is  not  the  thing,  Mr.  Mil- 
lard,  I  will  follow  your  advice.  You  see  I  only  know 
Brooklyn,  and  if  a  reception  is  going  to  compromise  our 
position  in  the  future  I  wish  you  would  tell  me.  I  arn 
afraid  I  can  hardly  accomplish  even  that." 

But  Millard  again  said  that  a  reception  was  a  very 
proper  thing  to  begin  with.  By  degrees  he  drew  out  a 
statement  of  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  resources  for  a  reception, 
and  he  could  not  conceal  from  her  the  fact  that  they 
seemed  too  small,  for  numerousness  is  rather  indispensable 
to  this  species  of  entertainment.  A  reception  is  in  its 
essence  entertainment  by  wholesale. 

"  If  you  could  give  a  reception  in  honor  of  some 
body,"  he  suggested,  remembering  Philip  Cfouverneur's 
suggestion,  "  it  might  serve  to  attract  many  beyond  your 
own  circle,  and — and — give  you  a  reason  for  asking  people 
whom — you  know  but  slightly,  if  at  all." 

But  Mrs.  Hilbrough  did  not  know  any  proper  person 
to  honor  with  a  reception.  Her  embarrassment  was  con 
siderable  at  finding  herself  so  poorly  provided  with  ways 
and  means,  and  she  was  slowly  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  she  must  wait  another  winter,  or  take  other  means 
of  widening  her  acquaintance.  A  plan  had  occurred  to 
Millard  by  which  he  could  help  her  out  of  the  difficulty. 
But  as  it  involved  considerable  trouble  and  risk  on  his 
part,  he  rejected  it.  There  was  no  reason  why  he  should 
go  too  far  in  helping  the  Hilbroughs.  It  was  not  a  case 
for  self-sacrifice. 


PH1LLIDA  CALLENDER.  81 

Hilbrough,  in  the  nursery,  had  found  the  youngest 
little  girl  suffering  with  a  slight  cold, — nothing  more 
than  a  case  of  infantile  sniffles, — but  Hilbrough's  affection 
had  magnified  it  into  incipient  croup  or  pneumonia,  and, 
after  a  fruitless  search  for  the  vial  of  tolu  and  squills,  he 
dispatched  the  maid  to  call  Mrs.  Hilbrough. 

When  they  were  left  alone,  Millard  turned  to  Phillida, 
who  had  shown  nearly  as  much  disappointment  over  the 
possible  postponement  of  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  project  as  the 
projector  herself. 

"  You  are  deeply  interested  in  this  affair,  too,  Miss 
Callender,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  care  much  for  such  things  myself,  but  I 
should  dislike  to  see  Mrs.  Ililbrough  disappointed,"  an 
swered  Phillida.  "  She  has  been  such  a  good  friend  to 
me,  and  in  time  of  the  greatest  trouble  she  was  such  a 
friend  to  my  family,  and  especially  " — she  hesitated — "  to 
my  father,  who  died  two  years  ago,  that  I  am  interested 
in  whatever  concerns  her  happiness  or  even  her  pleasure." 

Somehow  this  changed  the  color  of  the  enterprise  in 
the  eyes  of  Charles  Millard.  The  personality  of  Miss 
Callender  was  interesting  to  him,  and  besides  she  was 
Mrs.  Gouverneur's  niece.  It  seemed  worth  while  gratify 
ing  Mrs.  Hilbrough  at  considerable  cost  if  it  would  give 
pleasure  to  this  peculiar  young  lady. 

"Well,  with  such  a  certificate  of  Mrs.  Hilbrough's 
qualities,"  said  Millard,  after  a  pause,  "  we  must  strain  a 
point  and  get  up  this  reception  for  her.  We  must  be 
good  to  the  good.  We  can  carry  this  through  together, 
you  and  I,  Miss  Callender/'  he  said. 


82  THE   FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  asked  Phillida,  opening  her  large, 
dark  eyes  with  innocent  surprise.  "  I  know  nobody." 

"  You  can  get  Mrs.  Gouverneur's  countenance,  per 
haps.  That  will  be  a  great  deal  for  Mrs.  Hilbrough  here 
after." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  get  it,  with  your  help,  Mr.  Millard. 
My  aunt  is  good  hearted,  but  she  has  queer  notions.  She 
has  a  great  opinion  of  the  social  importance  of  her 
family."  And  Mrs.  Gouverneur's  niece  laughed  in  a  way 
which  went  to  show  that  she  treated  with  some  levity  her 
aunt's  estimate  of  the  value  of  ancestry. 

"  One  couldn't  avoid  being  proud  of  such  forefathers," 
answered  Millard. 

"  Perhaps  she  will  help  if  I  ask  her.  She  is  very 
obliging  to  me — I  belong  to  the  royal  family  too,  you 
know,"  she  said  archly. 

"  Together  we  can  get  her  to  lend  her  influence  to 
Mrs.  Hilbrough,"  said  Millard,  "  or  at  least  to  attend  the 
reception.  And  I  think  I  know  how  the  whole  thing  can 
be  managed." 

"  I  am  so  glad,  and  so  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Mil 
lard,"  said  Phillida,  a  gleam  of  enthusiastic  feeling,  almost 
childlike,  suddenly  showing  itself  through  the  grave  ex 
terior.  This  little  revelation  of  the  self  shut  within  the 
disciplined  self  without  puzzled  Millard  and  piqued  the 
curiosity  he  felt  to  understand  what  manner  of  young 
girl  this  was,  habitually  so  self-mastered,  and  apparently 
so  full  of  unknown  power  or  of  unawakened  sensibilities. 
An  apprehension  of  potencies  undeveloped  in  Miss  Cal- 
lender  gave  her  new  acquaintance  the  feeling  of  an  ex- 


PHILLIDA   CALLENDER.  83 

plorer  who  stands  on  the  margin  of  a  land  virgin  and 
unknown,  eager  to  discover  what  is  beyond  his  sight. 
For  Millard's  main  interest  in  life  lay  in  the  study  of  the 
personalities  about  him,  and  here  was  one  the  like  of 
which  he  had  never  seen.  The  social  naturalist  had 
lighted  on  a  new  genus. 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  returned  with  her  husband,  and  Mil- 
lard  explained  to  her  that  a  certain  Baron  von  Pohlsen,  a 
famous  archaeologist,  was  at  that  time  in  Mexico  studying 
the  remains  of  Aztec  civilization  with  the  view  of  enrich 
ing  the  pages  of  his  great  work  on  the  "  Culturgeschichte  " 
of  the  ancient  Americans.  He  was  to  return  by  way  of 
New  York,  where  his  money  had  been  remitted  to  the 
Bank  of  Manhadoes,  and  he  had  been  socially  consigned 
to  Mr.  Millard  by  a  friend  in  Dresden.  Pohlsen  was 
obliged  to  observe  some  economy  in  traveling,  and  had 
asked  Millard  to  find  him  a  good  boarding-house.  If 
Mrs.  Hilbrough  cared  to  receive  the  Baron  as  a  guest  for 
a  fortnight,  Millard  would  advise  him  to  accept  the  in 
vitation,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  would  relieve  Mr.  Hil 
brough  of  his  share  of  the  burden  by  taking  the  Baron 
about.  This  would  furnish  Mrs.  Hilbrough  with  a  good 
excuse  for  giving  a  reception  to  the  nobleman,  and  then, 
without  any  appearance  of  pushing,  she  could  invite  peo 
ple  far  afield, 

It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  things  that  a  woman  in 
Mrs.  Hilbrough's  position  should  refuse  to  entertain  a 
baron  She  saw  many  incidental  advantages  in  the  plan, 
not  the  least  of  which  was  that  Mr.  Millard  would  be  a 
familiar  in  the  house  during  the  Baron's  stay.  Hilbrough 


84:  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

acquiesced  with  a  rueful  sense  that  he  should  be  clumsy 
enough  at  entertaining  a  foreigner  and  a  man  of  title. 
Mrs.  Ililbrough  thanked  Millard  heartily  for  his  obliging 
kindness,  but  what  he  cared  most  for  was  that  Miss  Cal- 
lender's  serious  face  shone  with  pleasure  and  gratitude. 

Having  accepted  another  invitation  for  the  evening, 
Millard  took  his  leave  soon  after  ten  o'clock,  proposing 
to  come  at  a  later  time  to  help  Mrs.  Ililbrough — "and 
Miss  Callender,  I  hope,"  he  added  with  a  bow  to  Phillida 
— to  make  up  the  list.  Having  but  two  blocks  to  go,  he 
declined,  in  favor  of  Miss  Callender,  the  Hilbrough  car 
riage,  which  stood  ready  at  the  door. 

The  close  carriage,  with  only  Phillida  for  occupant, 
rattled  down  Fifth  Avenue  to  Madison  Square,  and  along 
Broadway  to  Union  Square,  then  over  eastward  by  Four 
teenth  street,  until  after  a  turn  or  two  it  waked  the  echoes 
rudely  in  a  quiet  cross  street,  stopping  at  length  before  a 
three-story  house  somewhat  antique  and  a  little  broader 
than  its  neighbors.  Phillida  closed  and  bolted  the  outer 
doors,  and  then  opened  one  of  the  inner  ones  with  a 
night-key,  and  made  her  way  to  what  had  been  the  back 
parlor  of  the  house.  In  that  densification  of  population 
which  proceeds  so  incessantly  on  Manhattan  Island  this 
old  house,  like  many  another,  was  modernly  compelled  to 
hold  more  people  than  it  had  been  meant  for  in  the  hal 
cyon  days  when  Second  Avenue  was  a  fashionable  thor 
oughfare.  The  second  floor  of  the  house  had  been  let, 
without  board,  to  a  gentleman  and  his  wife,  and  the 
rooms  above  to  single  gentlemen.  The  parlor  floor  and 
the  basement  were  made  to  accommodate  the  mother  and 


PHILLIDA  CALLENDER.  85 

her  two  daughters  with  their  single  servant.  The  simple, 
old  back  parlor,  with  no  division  but  a  screen,  had  two 
beds  for  mother  and  daughters,  while  the  well-lighted 
extension  made  them  a  sitting  room  in  pleasant  weather. 
Mrs.  Callender  clung  to  one  luxury  persistently — there 
was  always  a  grate  fire  in  the  back  parlor  on  cold  evenings. 

To  this  back  parlor  came  Phillida  with  a  disagreeable 
sense  that  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  retreating  carriage  was  rous 
ing  the  quiet  neighborhood  as  the  sleepy  and  impatient 
coachman  banged  his  way  over  the  pavement,  the  hum- 
mocky  irregularities  of  which,  saved  this  thoroughfare 
from  all  traffic  that  could  avoid  it ;  for  only  the  drivers 
of  reckless  butcher  carts,  and  one  or  two  shouting  milk 
men,  habitually  braved  its  perils. 

Phillida,  as  she  approached  the  old-fashioned  ma 
hogany  door  of  the  back  parlor,  in  the  dim  light  shed  by 
the  half-turned-down  gas  jet  at  the  other  end  of  the  hail, 
raised  her  hand  to  the  knob ;  but  it  eluded  her,  for  the 
door  was  opened  from  within  by  some  one  who  stood 
behind  it.  Then  the  head  of  a  girl  of  seventeen  with 
long,  loose  blond  tresses  peered  around  the  edge  of  the 
door  as  Phillida  entered. 

"  Come  in,  Philly,  and  tell  us  all  about  it,"  was  the 
greeting  she  got  from  her  sister,  clad  in  a  red  wrapper 
covering  her  night-dress,  and  shod  with  worsted  bedroom 
slippers.  "  Mama  wanted  me  to  go  to  bed  ;  but  I  knew 
you'd  have  something  interesting  to  tell  about  the  Hil- 
broughs,  and  so  I  stuck  it  out  and  kept  mama  company 
while  she  did  the  mending.  Come  now,  Philly,  tell  me 
everything  all  at  once." 


86  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

The  mother  sat  by  the  drop-light  mending  a  stocking, 
and  she  looked  up  at  Phillida  with  a  gentle,  brightening 
expression  of  pleasure — that  silent  welcome  of  affection 
for  which  the  daughters  always  looked  on  entering. 

"  What,  mama,  not  in  bed  yet  ?  "  exclaimed  Phillida, 
as  she  laid  off  her  outer  garments,  and  proceeded  to  bend 
over  and  kiss  her  mother,  trying  to  take  away  her  work 
at  the  same  time.  "  Come  now,  you  ought  to  be  in  bed ; 
and,  besides,  this  old  stocking  of  mine  is  darned  all  over 
already,  and  ought  to  be  thrown  away." 

"  Ah,  Phillida,"  said  her  mother  with  a  sweet,  entreat 
ing  voice,  holding  fast  to  the  stocking  all  the  time,  "  if  it 
gives  me  pleasure  let  me  do  it.  If  I  like  to  save  old 
things  I'm  sure  it's  no  harm." 

"  But  you  ought  to  have  been  in  bed  at  nine  o'clock," 
said  Phillida,  her  hold  on  the  stocking  weakening  per 
ceptibly  under  the  spell  of  her  mother's  irresistible 
entreaty. 

"  It  will  take  but  a  minute  more  if  you  will  let  me 
alone,"  was  all  the  mother  said  as  Phillida  released  the 
work,  and  the  elaborate  darning  went  on. 

"  There's  a  good  deal  more  darn  than  stocking  to  that 
now,"  said  the  younger  sister.  « It's  a  work  of  genius. 
I'll  tell  you,  Phillida :  we'll  take  it  to  the  picture  f ramer's 
to-morrow  and  have  it  put  under  glass,  and  then  we'll  get 
a  prize  for  it  as  a  specimen  of  fancy  work  at  the  Ameri 
can  Institute  Fair.  But  now  tell  me,  what  did  you  have 
for  dinner  ?  How  many  courses  were  there  ?  Was  there 
anybody  else  there?  What  sort  of  china  have  they  got? 
Do  they  keep  a  butler?  How  does  Mr.  Hilbrough  take 


PHILLIDA  CALLENDER.  87 

to  the  new  fixings  ?  And,  oh,  say !  are  they  going  to  give 
any  parties  ?  And — " 

"  Give  me  a  chance,  Frisky,  and  I'll  answer  you,"  said 
Phillida,  who  began  at  the  beginning  and  told  all  that  she 
could  think  of,  even  to  describing  the  doilies  and  finger- 
bowls.- 

"  You  said  there  was  a  gentleman  there.  Who  was 
he?"  said  Agatha,  the  younger. 

"  That  Mr.  Millard  that  Cousin  Phil  is  so  fond  of. 
He  is  at  Aunt  Harriet's  often  on  Sunday  evenings.  He's 
a  good  looking  young  man,  dressed  with  the  greatest 
neatness,  and  is  very  polite  to  everybody  in  an  easy 
way." 

"Did  he  talk  with  you?" 

"  Not  at  first.  He  paid  as  much  attention  to  Mrs. 
Hilbrough  as  he  could  have  paid  to  a  queen ;  treating  her 
with  a  great  deal  of  deference.  You  could  see  that  she 
was  pleased.  Just  think,  he  asked  me  if  I  liked  Wag 
ner's  music." 

"  How  did  you  get  out  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  get  out  of  it  at  all.  I  just  told  him  I  had 
never  heard  anything  of  Wagner's.  But  when  he  found 
that  I  was  Mrs.  Gouverneur's  niece  it  made  things  all 
right  with  him,  and  he  made  as  handsome  a  speech  about 
my  great-grandfather  and  all  the  rest  as  Aunt  Harriet 
could  have  done  herself." 

"  Wasn't  Mrs.  Hilbrough  surprised  to  hear  that  you 
were  somebody  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  don't  you  think  she  was  ?  " 


88  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  May  be  so." 

"  Didn't  she  seem  pleased  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  was  relieved,  for  my  confession  that  I 
hadn't  heard  many  operas  bothered  her." 

"You  said  Mr.  Millard  was  polite.  How  was  he 
polite  ?  " 

"  He  made  you  feel  that  he  liked  you,  and  admired 
you ;  I  can't  tell  you  how.  He  didn't  say  a  single  nat 
tering  word  to  me,  but  when  he  promised  to  meet  Mrs. 
llilbrough  again,  to  arrange  about  the  people  she  is  to 
have  at  the  reception,  he  bowed  to  me  and  said,  '  And 
Miss  Callender,  I  hope.'  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Phillida,  I'll  bet  he  took  a  fancy 
to  you." 

"  Nonsense,  Agatha  Callender ;  don't  talk  such  stuff. 
He's  been  for  years  in  society,  and  knows  all  the  fine 
people  in  New  York." 

"  Nonsense,  yourself,  Phillida  ;  you're  better  than  any 
of  the  fine  ladies  in  New  York.  Mr.  Millard  isn't  good 
enough  for  you.  But  I  just  know  he  was  taken  with 
you." 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  have  my  head  turned  by 
bows  and  fine  speeches  that  have  been  made  to  five  hun 
dred  other  women  ?  " 

"  There  never  was  any  other  woman  in  New  York  as 
fine  as  you,  Phillida." 

"  Not  among  your  acquaintance,  and  in  your  opinion, 
my  dear,  seeing  you  hardly  know  any  other  young  woman 
but  me." 

"  I  know  more  than  you  think  I  do.     If  you  ha^  any 


PH1LLIDA   CALLENDER.  89 

common  sense,  Phillida,  you'd  make  the  most  of  Aunt 
Harriet,  and  marry  some  man  that  would  furnish  you 
with  a  liorse  and  a  carriage  of  your  own.  But  you  won't. 
You're  just  a  goosey.  You  spend  your  time  on  the 
urchins  down  in  Mackerelville.  The  consequence  is 
you'll  never  get  married,  and  I  shall  have  you  on  my 
hands  an  old  maid  who  never  improved  her  opportuni 
ties." 

"  What  stuff  !  "  laughed  Phillida. 

"  You've  got  a  fine  figure — a  splendid  figure,"  pro 
ceeded  the  younger,  "  and  a  face  that  is  sweet  and  charm 
ing,  if  I  do  say  it.  It's  a  dreadful  waste  of  woman.  You 
wrap  your  talent  in  a  Sunday-school  lesson-paper  and 
bury  it  down  in  Mackerelville." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Callender  put  away  her  elaborate 
hand-finished  stocking,  saying  softly, 

"  Agatha,  why  do  you  tease  Phillida  so  ?  " 

"  Because  she's  such  a  goose,"  said  the  younger  sister, 
stubbornly. 

Twenty  minutes  later  Agatha,  looking  from  her  bed 
side  in  the  dark  corner  of  the  room,  saw  her  sister  kneel 
ing  by  a  chair  near  the  fireside.  The  sight  of  Phillida  at 
prayer  always  awed  her.  Agatha  herself  was  accustomed 
to  say,  before  jumping  into  bed,  a  conventional  little 
prayer,  very  inclusive  as  to  subjects  embraced,  and  very 
thin  in  texture,  but  Phillida's  prayers  were  different. 
Agatha  regarded  the  form  of  her  sister,  well  developed 
and  yet  delicately  graceful,  now  more  graceful  than  ever 
as  she  knelt  in  her  long  night-dress,  her  two  hands  folded 
naturally  the  one  across  the  other,  and  her  head  bowed. 


90  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

As  she  arranged  the  bed,  Agatha  followed  mentally  what 
she  imagined  to  be  the  tenor  of  the  prayer — she  fancied 
that  Phillida  was  praying  to  be  saved  from  vanity  and 
worldliness ;  she  knew  that  each  of  the  little  urchins  in 
the  mission  Sunday-school  class  was  prayed  for  by  name. 
She  turned  away  a  moment,  and  then  caught  sight  of 
Phillida  as  she  unclasped  her  hands  and  rested  them  on 
the  chair.  Agatha  knew  that  when  Phillida  changed  her 
position  at  the  close  of  her  prayer  it  was  to  recite,  as  she 
always  did,  the  "  Now  I  lay  me,"  which  was  associated  in 
her  mind,  as  in  Agatha's,  with  an  oriental  environment,  a 
swarthy  nurse  in  waist-cloth  and  shoulder  scarf,  and,  more 
than  all,  was  linked  with  her  earliest  memories  of  the  re 
vered  father  at  whose  knees  the  children  were  accustomed 
to  repeat  it.  When  Phillida  rose  to  her  feet  in  that  state 
of  exaltation  which  prayer  brings  to  one  who  has  a  natu 
ral  genius  for  devotion,  the  now  penitent  and  awe-stricken 
Agatha  went  to  her  sister,  put  her  arms  about  her  neck, 
and  leaned  her  head  upon  her  shoulder,  saying  softly : 
"  You  dear,  good  Phillida !  " 


VII. 

THE  LION  SOIREE. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  romancing  of  her  sister,  Phil- 
lida  built  no  castles.  Millard's  politeness  to  her  had  been 
very  agreeable,  but  she  knew  that  it  was  only  politeness. 
Almost  every  man's  and  every  woman's  imagination  is 
combustible  on  one  side  or  another.  Many  young  women 
are  set  a-dreaming  by  any  hint  of  love  or  marriage.  But 
Phillida  had  read  only  sober  books — knowing  little  of  ro 
mances,  there  was  no  stock  of  incendiary  material  in  her 
memory.  Her  fancy  was  easily  touched  off  on  the  side 
of  her  religious  hopes ;  all  her  education  had  intensified 
the  natural  inflammability  of  her  religious  emotions,  but 
in  affairs  of  this  world  she  was  by  nature  and  education 
unusually  self-contained  for  a  woman  of  one  and  twenty. 

Millard,  on  his  part,  had  been  exposed  to  the  charms 
of  many  women,  and  his  special  interest  in  Phillida 
amounted  only  to  a  lively  curiosity.  Always  susceptible  to 
the  charm  of  a  woman's  presence,  this  susceptibility  had 
been  acted  on  from  so  many  sides  as  to  make  his  interest 
in  women  superficial  and  volatile.  The  man  who  is  too 
much  interested  in  women  to  be  specially  interested  in  a 
woman  is  pretty  sure  not  to  marry  at  all,  or  to  marry 
late. 


92  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

Baron  Polilsen  arrived,  and  was  duly  installed  at  Mrs. 
Ililbrough's.  He  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  hospitality 
shown  him  by  this  wealthy  household,  and  fancied  that 
Americans  were  the  most  generous  of  peoples.  Millard, 
as  in  duty  bound,  took  pains  to  introduce  him  in  many 
desirable  quarters,  and  showed  him  the  lions  of  the  city 
in  Hilbrough's  carriage.  But  in  spite  of  Millard's  care  to 
relieve  him,  Hilbrough  afterward  confessed  that  the  panic 
of  1873  had  not  taxed  his  patience  and  cheerfulness  so 
deeply  as  this  entertainment  for  two  weeks  of  a  great 
German  antiquary.  Dutifully  the  banker  attended  a 
session  of  the  Geographical  Society  to  listen  to  an  address 
made  by  his  guest  in  broken  English,  on  the  ancient  im 
portance  of  Uxmal  and  Palenque.  Hilbrough  also  heard 
with  attentive  perplexity  the  Baron's  account  before  the 
Historical  Society  of  the  Aztec  Calendar  Stone,  and  his 
theory  of  its  real  purpose. 

When  the  American  banker  was  left  alone  with  the 
learned  High  Dutchman,  it  became  very  serious  business. 
Von  Polilsen,  with  all  his  erudition,  was  extremely  igno 
rant  of  the  art  of  banking  as  practised  in  New  York.  He 
did  not  know,  at  least  in  English,  the  difference  between 
collateral  and  real  estate  security,  and  "  gilt-edged  "  paper 
was  more  foreign  than  papyrus  to  him.  "Nor  could  Hil 
brough  interest  him  much  in  the  remarkable  rise  in 
Brooklyn  real  estate  since  1860.  Brooklyn  was  too  new 
by  a  millennium  for  the  Baron  to  care  for  it.  Hilbrough 
tried  the  plan  of  shunting  the  antiquary  to  his  main  lines 
of  American  hieroglyphs,  aboriginal  architecture,  and 
Pueblo  domestic  economy.  But  this  only  shifted  the 


THE  LION  SOlRfiE.  93 

difficulty,  for  under  the  steady  downpour  of  Pohlsen's 
erudition,  Hilbrough  had  continually  to  change  position, 
now  putting  the  right  knee  over  the  left  and  now  placing 
the  left  atop,  to  keep  from  nodding,  and  he  was  even  re 
duced  to  pinching  himself,  sometimes,  in  order  to  keep 
awake,  just  as  the  learned  and  ingenious  Baron  had  got 
his  pvramid  of  inference  ready  to  balance  on  its  rather 
slender  apex  of  fact.  Archaeology  was  new  to  Hilbrough, 
and  deductive  profits  so  large  from  inductive  investments 
so  small  always  seemed  to  the  financier  to  indicate  bad 
security. 

Mrs.  Hilbrough,  clever  woman,  appeared  to  understand 
it  all.  She  had  crammed  on  a  copy  of  Stephens's  "  Travels 
in  Yucatan  "  that  had  belonged  to  her  father,  and  she  gave 
Pohlsen  no  end  of  pleasure  by  asking  him  about  such 
things  as  the  four-headed  altars  before  the  great  idols  at 
Copan,  and  the  nature  of  the  great  closed  house  at  Lab- 
phak.  If  you  will  look  in  Pohlsen's  book  of  travels  in 
America  (Reise  durch  Amerika :  Leipzig,  1888)  you  will 
discover  in  his  chapter  on  New  York  that  in  this  metropo 
lis  the  ladies  take  a  remarkable  interest  in  science,  and 
are  generally  better  informed  regarding  such  matters  than 
their  husbands,  these  latter  being  deeply  immersed  in 
mere  dollar-hunting. 

•  But  Mrs.  Hilbrough  was  much  more  interested  in  her 
reception  to  be  given  in  honor  of  Baron  Pohlsen  than  she 
was  in  the  four-headed  altars  of  the  remoter  Aztecs.  If 
she  could  not  fill  her  house  with  those  very  richest  and 
most  exclusive  people  who  in  a  plutocratic  society  always 
try  to  think  themselves  for  some  reason  or  other  the  best 


94.  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

people,  she  found  that  under  Millard's  guidance  she  could 
succeed  in  getting  some  people  of  wealth  and  distinction 
who  were  desirous  of  being  presented  to  a  baron,  and,  what 
was  better,  she  could  get  a  considerable  number  from 
that  class  of  lettered  men  and  their  families  and  the  ad 
mirers  of  literature,  art,  and  learning,  who,  together,  form 
the  really  best  people  in  every  metropolis.  Most  of  these 
knew  little  of  Pohlsen's  researches,  and  cared  less  for  his 
title,  but  since  he  was  vouched  for  as  a  foreigner  who  had 
acquired  distinction  in  his  department  of  knowledge, 
they  were  ready  to  do  him  honor  with  that  generous 
hospitality  for  which  Americans  blame  themselves  while 
they  practise  it ;  as  though  it  were  not  better  for  us  to  be 
good-hearted,  remembering  that  in  the  studious  preserva 
tion  of  national  dignity  and  social  perpendicularity  we 
can  never  hope  to  emulate  our  English  cousins. 

How  was  it  all  arranged  ?  How,  without  violating  the 
sanctities  of  etiquette,  did  Mrs.  Hilbrough  contrive  to 
invite  people  whom  she  did  not  know,  and  how  did 
they  accept  with  no  sacrifice  of  dignity  ?  Millard  was  an 
expert  adviser  ;  he  knew  that  just  as  counters  are  made  to 
stand  for  money  in  a  game  of  cards,  so  do  little  oblong 
bits  of  pastebord  with  the  sender's  name  upon  them  pass 
current  under  certain  conditions  as  substitutes  for  visits, 
acquaintance,  esteem,  and  friendship.  By  a  juggle  with 
these  social  chips  Mrs.  Hilbrough  became  technically,  and 
temporarily,  acquainted  with  a  great  many  people,  and 
that  without  much  sacrifice  of  time.  Do  not  expect 
details  here ;  your  fashionable  stationer  is  the  best  re 
liance  in  such  a  case,  unless  you  chance  to  know  Mr.  Mil- 


THE  LION  SOIREE.  95 

lard,  or  can  find  the  law  laid  down  in  Mrs.  Sherwood's 
tactfully  vague  chapters,  which,  like  the  utterances  of  the 
Delphic  oracle,  are  sure  to  hit  the  mark  one  way  or  the 
other. 

Now  that  Millard  had  taken  Mrs.  Hilbrough  for  a 
client  he  could  not  bear  to  be  balked.  The  attendance  of 
Mrs.  Gouverneur  he  considered  of  the  first  importance, 
but  this  was  not  easily  secured.  If  anything  could  have 
persuaded  that  lady  to  sacrifice  her  principles  as  an  ex 
clusive  so  far  as  to  attend,  it  would  have  been  her  dislike 
of  refusing  Phillida ;  but  as  it  was,  she  made  excuses 
without  positively  refusing.  In  telling  Mrs.  Hilbrough  of 
her  lack  of  success  Phillida  took  pains  to  repeat  Mrs. 
Gouverneur's  pretexts,  and  not  to  betray  what  she  knew 
to  be  her  aunt's  real  reason  for  hesitation.  Millard  en 
countered  Mrs.  Hilbrough  at  the  opera,  and  heard  from 
her  of  the  failure  of  Phillida's  endeavors.  He  felt  him 
self  put  on  his  mettle. 

Knowing  that  the  next  day  was  Mrs.  Gouverneur's 
day  for  receiving,  he  made  himself  her  first  caller  before 
the  rest  began  to  arrive.  Looking  from  the  old-fashioned 
windows  of  Mrs.  Gouverneur's  front  parlor,  he  praised 
the  beauty  of  the  winter  scene,  and  admired  especially 
the  spotted  boles  of  the  great  buttonwoods  in  Washington 
Square.  He  thought  to  make  his  call  seem  less  on  pur 
pose  by  such  commonplace  civilities,  but  Mrs.  Gouverneur, 
who  was  a  soft-spoken  lady  of  much  cleverness,  with  a 
talent  for  diplomacy  inherited  from  her  grandfather, 
asked  herself,  while  she  replied  in  the  same  vein  to 
Millard 's  preliminary  vapidities,  what  on  earth  so  formal 


96  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

a  call  and  such  a  waste  of  adroitness  might  lead  up  to. 
But  Millard,  even  after  this  preparation,  provided  an 
inclined  plane  for  approaching  his  proposition. 

"  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  a  niece  of  yours  the 
other  evening,  a  Miss  Callender,"  he  said.  "  I  found  her 
very  agreeable." 

"  Oh !  You  met  Phillida  Callender  at  Mrs.  Hil- 
brough's,  probably,"  said  Mrs.  Gouverneur  with  a  flush  of 
pleasure.  "She's  as  good  as  goodness  itself,  and  very 
clever.  But  rather  peculiar  also.  She  has  a  great  deal 
of  Callender  in  her.  Her  father  gave  up  good  prospects 
in  this  country  to  preach  in  Siam.  He  might  have  had 
the  pastorate  of  one  of  the  best  Presbyterian  churches  in 
New  York,  but  nothing  could  dissuade  him  from  what  he 
fancied  to  be  his  duty.  It  only  proves  what  I  have  always 
said,  that '  blood  will  tell.'  It  is  related  in  some  of  the  old 
books  that  Philip  has  upstairs  that  one  of  the  women  of 
the  Callender  family,  before  the  Ee volution,  felt  it  her 
duty  to  go  through  the  streets  of  Newport,  crying,  '  Re 
pent,  repent,  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand.'  She 
was  a  refined  and  delicate  lady,  and  the  people  of  the 
town  felt  so  much  chagrin  to  see  her  expose  herself  to 
mortification  in  the  public  street  that  they  shut  up  their 
windows  or  turned  away,  which  I  think  was  very  nice  of 
them.  I  fancy  that  Phillida,  with  all  her  superior  in 
telligence,  has  a  good  deal  of  this  great-great-aunt  of  her 
father's  in  her.  I  was  talking  to  her  once  about  this 
story  of  Mary  Callender's  preaching  in  the  streets,  and  she 
really  seemed  to  take  more  interest  in  that  Quaker  lady's 
delusion  than  she  did  in  her  ancestors  on  our  side ;  and 


THE  LION  SOIRftE.  97 

you  know,  Mr.  Millard,  we  think  a  good  deal  of  our 
descent,  though  of  course  we  never  say  anything  about 
it." 

It  was  inevitable  that  a  courteous  man  like  Millard 
should  meet  this  speech  by  saying,  "  When  one  has  an 
cestors  whose  position  is  not  one  of  mere  social  promi 
nence  but  whose  acts  are  a  part  of  the  history  of  a  nation, 
it  must  be  hard  to  forget  so  important  a  fact."  It  was 
equally  inevitable  that  even  the  wary  Mrs.  Gouverneur 
could  not  help  appreciating  flattery  so  apropos  of  the 
subject  in  hand. 

"  But  I  have  a  notion,"  Millard  continued,  "  that  if 
we  could  get  Miss  Cullender  to  take  an  interest  in  society 
she  would  prove  an  ornament  to  it  and  a  credit  to  her 
family." 

Mrs.  Gouverneur  shook  her  head  doubtfully.  "  I 
don't  believe  it  can  be  done,  though  I  should  be  glad  if 
it  could." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  that  she  is  deeply  interested  in  that 
reception  to  Baron  Pohlsen  next  week  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  she  is  attached  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough.  She  makes 
friends  without  the  least  regard  to  social  consequences, 
and  I  believe  even  has  friendships  among  the  people  with 
whom  she  is  only  connected  by  her  mission  Sunday- 
school  class.  She  stoutly  maintained  here  last  night  that 
she  knew  a  real  lady  living  in  three  rooms  with  a  hus 
band  and  four  children !  I  declare,  I  like  Phillida  all 
the  better  for  this.  Her  impulses  are  very  noble,  but  I 
can't  help  wishing  she  wouldn't  do  it.  It  doesn't  do  for 
one  at  her  time  of  life  to  be  too  disinterested,  you  know." 


98  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

This  turn  in  the  talk  threw  Millard  off  the  track  for 
a  moment.  The  mention  of  people  living  narrowly 
brought  to  his  mind  his  own  early  life  in  a  farmhouse, 
and  reminded  him  of  his  amiable  but  socially  unpre 
sentable  aunt,  whom  he  was  wont  faithfully  to  visit  on 
one  Sunday  afternoon  in  every  month.  There  was  just  a 
little  cowardly  feeling  that  should  his  relations  with  the 
family  in  Avenue  C  become  known  among  his  friends, 
his  social  position  might  become  compromised.  He  did 
not  know  that  all  exclusive  people  in  New  York  have 
unpresentable  kinsfolk  hidden  away  somewhere,  and  are 
ever  trembling  lest  the  fact  should  be  known  to  some 
other  family  that  is  likewise  doing  its  best  to  hide  some 
never-get-on  relatives. 

Mrs.  Gouverneur  noticed  Millard's  heightened  color, 
and  feared  her  slighting  allusion  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough  might 
have  annoyed  him.  Before  he  could  pull  his  wits  to 
gether  to  reply  to  her  last  remark,  she  added,  "  I  have  no 
doubt  your  friend  Mrs.  Hilbrough  is  a  very  worthy  per 
son,  Mr.  Millard.  But  she  is  new  in  New  York  society." 

"  Indeed  I  can  not  call  her  my  friend,  Mrs.  Gouver 
neur.  Her  husband  is  the  real  head  of  our  bank  at 
present ;  he  is  likely  to  be  a  very  rich  man  in  a  few  years, 
and  he  has  obliged  me  in  many  ways.  But  I  have  only 
a  few  weeks'  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  whose 
chief  recommendation  to  me,  I  must  confess,  is  that  she 
is  a  friend  of  Miss  Callender,  who  is  your  niece.  But 
Mrs,  Hilbrough  seems  to  have  many  admirable  qualities. 
She  is  sure  to  make  herself  recognized,  and  I  do  not  see 
any  advantage  in  delaying  the  recognition.  For  my  part, 


THE  LION  SOIREE.  99 

I  think  she  will  do  a  great  service  at  the  outset  if  she 
adds  so  attractive  and  clever  a  young  lady  as  Miss  Cal- 
lender  to  society/' 

"Now,  Mr.  Millard,  you  are  playing  a  strong  game 
against  me,"  laughed  Mrs.  Gouverneur.  "  You  know  my 
dislike  for  new  acquaintances — for  enlarging  my  circle. 
But  when  you  propose  to  persuade  my  niece  to  see  a  little 
more  of  the  world  you  are  taking  advantage  of  my  only 
weakness.  You  play  a  deep  game." 

"  I'll  show  you  my  whole  hand  at  once,"  said  Millard, 
seeing  that  Mrs.  Gouverneur's  penetration  had  left  him 
no  resource  but  candor.  "  I  very  much  desire  to  be  Miss 
Callender's  escort  at  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  reception,  if  she 
will  accept  me.  Mrs.  Callender,  I  fear,  can  not  be  per 
suaded  to  go." 

"  You  want  me  for  chaperon,"  interposed  Mrs.  Gouver 
neur.  "  What  a  clever  scheme  !  How  could  you  dare  to 
set  such  a  trap  for  an  old  friend  ?  " 

"  It  will  prove  a  clever  scheme  if  it  succeeds.  But  it 
wasn't  clever  enough  to  deceive  you." 

"  Well,  you  and  Phillida  together  have  won.  Of 
course  I  can  not  refuse  if  Phillida  consents." 

"  Thank  you  from  my  heart,"  said  Millard,  rising  at 
hearing  the  door-bell  ring.  "  I  will  see  Miss  Callender, 
and  if  she  refuses  me  for  escort  you  will  be  able  to  laugh 
at  me.  I'm  sure  I'm  greatly  your  debtor." 

A  notion,  a  mere  notion,  such  as  will  enter  the  sober 
est  woman's  head  sometimes,  had  bobbed  to  the  surface 
of  Mrs.  Gouverneur's  thoughts  as  she  talked  with  Millard. 
It  was  that  her  niece's  future  might  somehow  hang  on 


100  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

her  decision.  She  was  not  a  matchmaker,  but  she  had  a 
diplomatic  faculty  for  persuading  things  to  come  out  as 
she  wished.  Mr.  Millard  would  be  a  most  eligible  hus 
band  for  any  woman  whose  expectations  in  life  were  not 
unreasonably  great.  Her  practical  mind  went  a  step 
farther  and  she  saw  that  in  the  event  of  anything  so  im 
probable  happening  as  that  Millard  should  fall  in  love 
with  a  lady  without  fortune,  say,  for  example,  a  clergy 
man's  daughter,  his  acquaintance  with  so  prosperous  a 
man  as  Hilbrough,  who  could  help  him  to  lucrative  in 
vestments,  might  be  very  desirable.  These  thoughts  were 
the  mere  bubbles  of  fancy  floating  in  her  mind.  The 
consideration  which  most  affected  her  decision  was  that 
the  presentation  of  her  niece  under  the  auspices  of  Mil 
lard  and  herself  might  prove  of  great  social  advantage  to 
Phillida. 

Millard  left  Mrs.  Gouverneur  with  the  intention  of 
calling  at  once  on  Miss  Callender,  but  when  he  reached 
Broadway  he  was  smitten  with  a  scruple,  not  of  con 
science,  but  of  etiquette.  Phillida  had  not  asked  him  to 
call.  After  staring  for  a  full  minute  in  perplexity  at  the 
passing  vehicles  and  the  faqade  of  the  ancient  theater  on 
the  opposite  side  of  Broadway,  then  in  its  last  days  of 
existence,  he  presently  concluded  that  Miss  Callender, 
being  a  young  woman  somewhat  unsophisticated,  and 
having  therefore  nothing  better  than  good  sense  for 
guide,  would  probably  not  be  shocked  by  the  audacity  of 
an  uninvited  call  from  a  gentleman  whose  character  was 
well  known  to  her. 

The  bell  rang  as  Mrs.  Callender  was  just  about  to 


THE  LION  SOIREE.  101 

try  a  dress  on  her  daughter  Agatha.  Callers  were  not  a 
frequent  interruption  to  their  pursuits,  and  when  the 
steps  of  a  man  ushered  into  the  front  parlor  were  heard 
through  the  sliding  doors,  they  concluded  that  it  was 
some  one  calling  on  the  gentleman  who  occupied  the 
second  floor.  Mrs.  Callender  and  her  daughters  lowered 
their  voices  to  a  whisper,  that  they  might  not  be  heard 
through  the  doors;  but  Sarah,  the  servant,  came  to  the 
back  parlor,  and  said  loud  enough  to  be  distinctly  audible 
to  the  visitor : 

"  It's  some  cards  for  Mrs.  Callender  and  Miss  Callen 
der."  Then  she  shut  the  door  and  descended  the  base 
ment  stairs,  without  waiting  to  carry  a  reply. 

Agatha  took  the  cards  and  whispered,  "  Mr.  Millard," 
biting  her  lower  lip  and  making  big  eyes  at  Phillida,  with 
an  "  I-told-you-so  "  nod  of  the  head,  and  then  she  pro 
ceeded  to  give  vent  to  her  feelings  by  dancing  softly 
about  the  room,  a  picturesque  figure  in  her  red  petticoat 
and  white  waist,  with  her  bare  arms  flying  about  her 
head.  If  the  doors  had  not  been  so  thin  her  excitement 
would  have  found  vent  in  more  noisy  ways.  As  noise 
was  precluded  there  was  nothing  left  for  her  but  this 
dumb  show.  In  her  muffled  gyrations  she  at  length 
knocked  a  chair  over  upon  the  fender,  making  a  loud 
clatter.  She  quickly  picked  it  up  and  sat  down  upon  it 
in  great  confusion,  with  a  remorseful  feeling  that  by  her 
imprudent  excitement  she  had  probably  blasted  Phillida's 
prospects  in  life. 

"  Come,  mother,  you  must  get  ready  and  go  in,"  whis 
pered  Phillida. 


102  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  No,  please,  Phillida.  He  doesn't  really  want  to  see 
me.  It's  only  a  matter  of  good  form  to  ask  for  us  both. 
You  must  beg  him  to  excuse  me.  I  do  so  want  to  get 
this  dress  done." 

Agatha,  recovering  from  her  remorse  by  this  time, 
helped  Phillida  to  do  a  little  hurried  prinking.  Luckily 
the  latter  had  been  getting  ready  to  go  out  and  had  on 
the  gown  that  served  her  on  all  except  extraordinary 
occasions  for  both  street  and  drawing-room. 

Millard  had  amused  himself  while  waiting  by  noting 
the  various  antiques  about  the  parlor,  heirlooms  of  former 
family  greatness,  arranged  with  an  eye  to  tasteful  effect. 
On  the  shelves  in  the  corner  some  articles  connected  with 
family  history  were  intermingled  with  curiosities  brought 
from  the  East.  A  pair  of  brass-bound  pattens  hinged  in 
the  middle,  once  worn  instead  of  overshoes  by  some  colo 
nial  ancestress,  sat  alongside  a  pair  of  oriental  sandals. 
Millard  thought  nothing  could  be  more  in  keeping  with . 
the  ancient  desk  and  table  than  the  unaffected  and 
straightforward  manner  in  which  Miss  Callender  greeted 
him,  holding  out  her  hand  with  modest  friendliness  and 
just  a  touch  of  diffidence.  This  last  was  due  to  the 
innuendoes  and  antics  of  Agatha. 

"I  ventured  to  call  without  permission,  Miss  Callen 
der,"  said  Millard,  with  hesitation. 

"  I'm  glad  you  did,  Mr.  Millard."  Phillida  could  not 
see  why  any  respectable  gentleman  should  wait  for  an 
invitation  to  call  on  a  lady,  or  how  a  young  lady  could 
ever  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  a  gentleman  to  call.  She 
added,  "  My  mother  wished  me  to  beg  you  to  excuse 


THE  LION  SOIREE.  103 

her.     She  has  some  troublesome  affairs  on  hand   just 


now. 


"  Certainly ;  don't  let  me  interrupt  her.  I  came  on 
business  with  you.  I  want  to  have  the  pleasure  of  escort 
ing  you  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  party  with  your  mother,  if 
she  will  kindly  accompany  us." 

Phillida  hesitated.  She  knew  that  chaperonage  was 
required  on  such  occasions.  "  Thank  you.  I  should  like 
to  accept  your  kind  offer,  but  my  mother  rarely  goes  out," 
she  said.  "  I  don't  believe  I  could  persuade  her  to  go, 
and  I've  no  other  chaperon." 

"  How  would  Mrs.  Gouverneur  do  ?  " 

"  But  Aunt  Harriet  won't  go." 

"  I've  just  come  from  her  house,  and  she  assured  me 
that  if  you  needed  her  for  a  chaperon — if  Mrs.  Callender 
could  not  go — she  would  keep  us  company." 

"  You  have  managed  Aunt  Harriet  very  well,"  said 
Phillida,  with  some  elation.  "  Better  than  I  could  have 
done." 

"  I  must  have  done  well.  Mrs.  Gouverneur  gives  me 
great  credit  for  my  nice  little  scheme,  as  she  calls  it.  But 
if  she  thinks  I  wish  to  be  your  escort  solely  in  order  to 
get  her  to  attend,  I  assure  you  that  Mrs.  Gouverneur  with 
all  her  penetration  is  mistaken." 

Phillida  colored  a  little  at  this  polite  speech  as  she 
said,  "  It  will  please  Mrs.  Hilbrough  to  have  my  aunt 
there." 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Hilbrough  also  will  give  me  great  credit 
where  I  do  not  deserve  it.  I  may  call  for  you  with  Mrs. 
Gouverneur  ?  " 


104:  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  Thank  you,  it  will  give  me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure." 
Phillida  said  this  with  a  momentary  fear  of  hearing  Aga 
tha  overturn  another  chair  behind  the  sliding  doors ;  but 
Mrs.  Callender  had  taken  herself  and  Agatha  to  the  base 
ment,  from  motives  of  delicacy  which  Agatha  was  hardly 
old  enough  to  appreciate. 

Mrs.  Gouverneur  never  did  anything  by  halves.  She 
made  herself  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough  on  the  evening 
of  the  reception  and  complimented  her  heartily  on  the 
distinguished  people  she  had  brought  together.  For  there 
was  the  learned  president  of  the  Geographical,  with  over 
hanging  brows  and  slow  and  gentle  speech  ;  there  was  the 
foreign  corresponding  secretary  of  the  Historical,  a  man 
better  known  as  a  diplomatist  and  an  author,  whose  long 
years  abroad  had  liberalized  his  mind  without  spoiling 
his  open-hearted  American  manners.  There  were  some 
of  the  directors  of  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  to  which 
institution  Pohlsen  had  given  some  Central  American 
pottery.  The  senior  ]\Tew  York  poet  wandered  in  his 
childlike  way  among  the  guests,  making  gentle  and 
affectionate  speeches  to  friends,  who  wondered  at  the 
widely  contrary  moods  to  which  his  susceptible  nature  is 
subject.  Bolton,  known  in  two  hemispheres  by  his  prose 
and  poetry,  had  come  out  of  complaisance,  protesting 
rather  indignantly  to  his  friends  that  he  didn't  believe  in 
Americans  making  such  an  ado  over  a  mere  baron.  In 
him  the  stranger  saw  a  slight  figure  full  of  character  and 
not  in  any  way  to  be  trifled  with  ;  only  men  of  letters  and 
his  friends  knew  what  pains  he  could  be  at  to  oblige  and 
to  help  the  humblest  of  struggling  fellow-craftsmen,  pro- 


THE  LION  SOIK&E.  105 

Tided  he  was  not  forbidden  to  accompany  the  unstinted 
assistance  with  a  little  grumbling  at  the  fearful  wreck  of 
his  time  which  all  sorts  of  people,  even  the  tramps  of  the 
literary  profession,  make  without  remorse. 

"  Charley,"  said  Philip  Gouverneur,  when  he  got  Mil- 
lard  into  a  corner,  "  what  have  you  been  doing  ?  This  is 
society  and  it  isn't ;  it  is  more  like  what  Carlyle  calls  a 
'  lion  soiree.' " 

"  Well,"  said  Millard,  "  it's  either  society  or  better. 
You  understand  that  the  Baron's  reputation  as  a  scholar 
has  modified  things." 

"  I  say,  Charley,"  said  Philip,  "  I  was  ashamed  to  find 
my  little  self  lost  among  these  know-it-alls  until  I  met 
Mrs.  Maginnis.  She  said,  '  Oh,  Mr.  Gouverneur,  I  am  so 
glad  to  see  somebody  that  I  know.  Who  are  all  these 
people  ? '  So  I  pointed  out  the  university  president  over 
there ;  and  I  told  her  that  St.  John  was  our  great  sculp 
tor,  though  I'm  not  sure  she  makes  any  clear  distinctions 
between  a  sculptor  and  a  maker  of  gravestones ;  and  I 
assured  her  that  we  had  several  magazine  editors,  and 
writers,  and  illustrators,  and  painters,  and  leading  journal 
ists,  and  some  of  the  very  foremost  of  our  German  citizens. 
1  Oh,  yes,'  she  replied,  <  newspaper  men,  artists,  and  Ger 
mans  !  Just  what  I  thought ;  but  there  are  not  more 
than  a  dozen  people  here  who  were  invited  to  Marsh- 
mallow's  great  ball  last  winter.' ': 

"  It  mightn't  be  a  bad  thing,"  said  Millard,  "  if  Marsh- 
mallow,  who  pretends  to  be  the  boss  of  society,  were  to 
include  more  people  of  artistic  and  literary  distinction 
such  as  we  have  here  to-night/' 


106  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  Nonsense,  Charley  !  he  couldn't  do  it.  There  are  a 
few  men  who  contrive  to  be  great  and  to  be  men  of  the 
world  at  the  same  time.  But  what  society  wants  is  polish. 
You  can  put  gloss  on  varnish,  but  some  of  these  men  are 
too  original  to  be  sand-papered  down  to  a  fashionable  uni 
formity.  No,  no  !  Old  Red  Sandstone  and  his  wife  over 
there  are  well  enough  at  a  lion  soiree,  but  how  would 
their  Silurian  manners  shine  at  the  Patriarchs'  ball  ?  You 
see  my  cousin  Phillida,  with  all  her  seriousness,  is  getting 
too  much  of  his  talk." 

At  this  hint  from  Philip,  Millard  moved  away  and 
glanced  hurriedly  about  the  room.  His  eye  lighted  on 
Lucas,  who  is  a  natural  adept  as  a  man  of  the  world 
though  a  man  of  letters.  Approaching  him,  Millard  said : 

"  Mr.  Lucas,  let  me  introduce  you  to  an  interesting 
being." 

"  That's  what  I've  been  looking  for  in  vain  all  the 
evening,"  said  Lucas. 

The  two  forced  a  sinuous  way  to  where  Phillida  was 
trying  to  enjoy  the  small  talk  of  a  man  who  was  incapable 
of  profitable  speech  at  a  depth  of  less  than  fifty  fathoms. 
Millard  presented  Lucas  first  to  Mrs.  Gouverneur  on  a 
chair  in  the  corner,  and  then  bowed  politely  to  the  geolo 
gist  as  he  interrupted  his  remarks  on  the  curiosities  of  the 
Bad  Lands,  and  made  Lucas  acquainted  with  Miss  Callen- 
der.  The  latter  showed  her  pleasure  at  thus  encountering 
a  favorite  writer,  but  she  had  the  good  sense  not  to  assure 
him  that  she  had  "  long  known  him  through  his  books." 
She  reflected  in  time  that  such  a  man  must  have  heard 
remarks  of  this  sort  rather  frequently.  But  when  Mil- 


THE  LION  SOIRftE.  107 

lard  had  moved  away  he  turned  about  to  note  the  change 
in  Miss  Calender's  countenance  under  the  influence  of 
that  stream  of  sparkling  talk  that  Lucas  never  fails  to 
give  forth  when  confronted  with  an  inspiring  listener. 

Later  in  the  evening  when  the  reception  had  passed 
its  climax,  and  the  antiquaries,  geographers,  historical  in 
vestigators,  and  other  lions,  grown  sleepy,  were  looking 
up  their  wives  and  daughters  to  be  gone,  Millard  found 
time  for  conversation  with  his  companion  of  the  evening, 
who  had  drifted  away  from  her  chaperon,  for  chaperon- 
age  only  half  flourishes  in  our  society,  and  is  indeed  quite 
out  of  place  at  a  New  York  lion  soiree,  where  a  maiden's 
heart  is  pretty  safe  without  guardianship. 

"  You  have  had  a  pleasant  evening,  Miss  Callender,  I 
hope.  I'm  sure  you've  helped  the  rest  of  us  to  a  pleasant 
evening." 

"  Indeed,  I  have  enjoyed  myself,  Mr.  Millard.  I  have 
met  my  favorite  poet,  have  talked  with  the  editor  of  my 
magazine,  and  have  found  that  Mr.  Lucas  makes  amends 
for  the  bores." 

"  I  hope  this  will  not  be  the  last  time  we  shall  meet 
you  in  society,"  said  Millard.  "  It  would  be  a  pity  for 
one  who  can  do  so  much  to  make  an  evening  delightful 
to  others,  not  to  go  more  into  society." 

"  It  takes  a  great  deal  of  time,  Mr.  Millard.     I  don't 
think  society  any  harm  as  a  recreation,  but  as  a  pursuit — 
Here  she  checked  herself. 

"  It  gives  a  great  deal  of  happiness,  though." 

"  Yes ;  but  only  to  those  whose  lot  is  fortunate  enough 
anvhow.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  have  something  else  to 


108  THE  FAITH  DOCTOK. 

do  in  the  world  than  just  to  amuse  ourselves."  At  this 
point  it  occurred  to  Phillida  that  in  defending  her  own 
view  of  life  she  was  reflecting  on  her  companion's.  "  I 
don't  mean  to  find  fault  with  anybody  else's  pursuits,  Mr. 
Millard,  but  rather  to  defend  my  own." 

The  last  remark,  by  focusing  what  she  had  said  be 
fore  upon  Millard,  only  made  the  matter  worse.     But  the 
talk  was  interrupted  at  this  point  by  Mrs.  Gouverneur, 
who  came  to  inquire  if   her   younger   companions  were 
ready  to  go.    Millard  was  a  little  sorry  for  the  interruption. 
He  could  not  but  feel  that  he  was  in  some  sort  under  con 
demnation  by  Miss  Callender,  and  there  was  something 
about  Miss  Callender  which  made  one  respect  her  moral 
judgment   and  desire  to  stand  well   in   her   estimation. 
But  the  conversation  in  the  carriage  took  another  turn, 
and  as  she  approached  her  own  home  it  occurred  to  Phil 
lida  that  Millard's  remark  at  the  time  of  his  call  implied 
that  his  acquaintance  with  the  family  might  depend  on 
her  inviting  him.     She  felt  grateful  to  him  for  his  grace 
ful  attentions  during  the  evening,  and  when  he  left  her 
at  the  door  she  extended  her  hand,  and  said: 
"  We  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Millard." 
When  Millard  had  landed  Mrs.  Gouverneur  in  Wash 
ington  Square,  with  many  polite  speeches  on  both  sides, 
and  had  reached  his  bachelor  apartment,  he  sat  down  in 
front  of   the   grate  with  a   comfortable  feeling   of  com 
placency.     He  had  helped  Mrs.  Hilbrough  to  launch  her 
little  bark  without  any  untoward  accident;  he   had  se 
cured  for  the  Baron  an  honor  which  the  latter  would  cer 
tainly   not   underestimate.     Then,   too,   he   had    obliged 


THE  LION  SOIREE.  109 

Mrs.  Gouyerneur  while  he  gratified  his  own  inclinations 
in  escorting  Miss  Callender  to  the  reception.  Whenever 
he  came  around  to  Phillida  he  found  the  only  uncomfort 
able  spot  in  his  meditations.  He  had  never  dreamed  that 
anybody  could  think  the  life  of  a  consummate  gentleman 
like  himself  deserving  of  anything  but  commendation. 
The  rector  of  St.  Mathias,  who  was  a  genial  man  of  the 
world  himself,  with  just  the  amount  of  devoutness  ad 
mixed  that  was  indispensable  to  his  professional  charac 
ter,  had  never  for  a  moment  found  fault  with  Millard, 
who  was  liberal  in  parish  affairs  and  an  ornament  to  the 
church.  Here  was  a  young  lady  with  a  very  different 
standard,  who  thought  it  a  Christian  duty  to  be  useful 
not  so  much  to  the  church  as  to  people  less  fortunate  than 
herself.  Millard  tried  to  dismiss  the  matter  from  his 
mind  by  reflecting  that  Miss  Calender's  father  must  have 
been  a  peculiar  man.  But  there  was  an  elevation  about 
Phillida's  nature  that  made  him  feel  his  own  to  be  some 
thing  less  than  was  desirable.  Yet  it  was  clear  to  him  that 
Miss  Callender  misjudged  society  people  from  ignorance 
of  them.  He  would  call  some  day  and  set  her  right. 
Then  he  laughed  at  the  notion.  What  did  it  matter  to 
him  whether  this  young  woman  judged  rightly  or  wrong 
ly  of  people  in  society  generally,  and  of  himself  in  par 
ticular.  He  dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind.  But 
by  the  time  he  had  taken  off  his  ties,  which  were  a  trifle 
too  narrow  in  the  toes  to  be  comfortable,  he  had  somehow 
returned  to  his  first  resolution  to  set  Miss  Callender  right 
in  the  matter  if  he  should  have  opportunity. 


VIII. 
IN  AVENUE  C. 

IF  Phillida  could  have  known  the  thoughts  that  oc 
cupied  the  mind  of  Millard  on  Sunday  afternoon,  two  or 
three  weeks  later,  as  he  started  for  his  monthly  visit  in 
Avenue  C,  she  would  not  have  judged  his  purposes  in  life 
severely.  His  walk  lay  through  a  cross-street  which 
steadily  deteriorated  as  he  journeyed  eastward,  conde- 
•|  scendingly  assimilating  itself  to  the  character  of  each 
avenue  in  turn,  i  Beer  saloons,  cheap  grocery  stores,  carts 
against  the  curbstones  with  their  shafts  pointing  skyward, 
and  troops  of  children  on  the  sidewalk,  marked  the  in 
creasing  poverty  and  density  of  the  population.  Millard 
wondered  at  the  display  of  trinkets  and  confectionery  in 
the  shop-windows,  not  knowing  that  those  whose  backs 
are  cheaply  clad  crave  ornaments,  and  those  whose  bellies 
lack  bread  are  ravenous  for  luxuries.j 

Being  a  fastidious  man  and  for  years  accustomed  to 
the  refinements  of  life,  he  exaggerated  the  discomforts  of 
tenement-house  living.  How  people  endured  such  misery 
and  yet  seemed  so  cheerful  he  could  not  imagine.  And 
though  he  did  not  feel  that  diffusive  benevolence  which 
prompted  Phillida  to  try  to  ameliorate  the  moral  condi 
tion  of  such  of  this  mass  as  she  could  reach,  he  had  a 


IN  AVENUE  C.  Ill 

strong  desire  to  lift  his  aunt  and  her  children  to  a  little 
higher  plane.  To  this,  hitherto,  he  had  found  an  obstacle 
in  the  pride  of  her  husband.  Henry  Martin  was  a  tin 
smith  who  had  come  to  the  city  to  work  in  a  great 
factory  for  a  little  higher  wages  than  he  could  get  as  a 
journeyman  tinker  in  a  country  town.  He  did  not  refuse 
to  let  the  children  accept  presents  from  "  Cousin  Charley," 
but  he  was  not  willing  "to  be  beholden  to  any  of  his 
wife's  folks,"  as  he  expressed  it.  He  resented  the  fact 
that  even  in  Cappadocia  he  had  been  somewhat  out 
stripped  by  his  brother-in-law,  Charles  Millard's  father, 
and  when  the  "  Millard  boys  had  inherited  money  from 
their  father's  brother,  and  Martin  saw  their  mother,  his 
wife's  sister,  living  in  a  style  to  which  he  could  never 
hope  to  lift  his  own  family,  it  weighed  on  his  mind,  and 
this  offense  to  his  pride  had  helped  to  fix  his  resolution 
in  favor  of  a  removal  to  "New  York. 

During  the  walk  eastward  Millard  was  debating  what 
might  be  done  for  the  promising  eldest  girl  in  his  aunt's 
family  and  for  the  two  boys.  Once,  it  is  true,  the  throng 
of  children  that  obstructed  his  path,  as  they  chased  one 
another  round  and  round  in  a  maze,  did  suggest  to  him 
that  from  Miss  Callender's  standpoint  he  ought  to  do 
something  "  for  those  less  fortunate  than  himself  "  even 
beyond  the  circle  of  relationship.  But  what  could  he 
do  ?  He  felt  that  by  his  very  nature  he  was  disqualified 
for  contact  and  personal  sympathy  with  humanity  rough- 
hewn.  And  as  he  crossed  Avenue  A,  and  paused  to  look 
up  and  down  it,  he  saw  such  inexhaustible  swarms  of 
people  that  what  one  man  could  do  for  them  seemed  of 


112  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

no  avail.  He  might  give  something  to  some  mission  or 
other  agency,  and  thus  get  the  disagreeables  of  benevo 
lence  done,  as  he  got  his  boots  blacked,  by  paying  for  it. 
Then  he  wondered  what  Miss  Callender  would  think  of 
such  a  device,  and  whether  in  the  luminous  moral  at 
mosphere  which  enveloped  her  it  would  seem  mean  to 
substitute  a  money  service  for  a  personal  one — to  employ 
a  substitute  when  you  have  no  stomach  for  the  war  your 
self. 

He  climbed  the  flights  of  dark  stairs  to  his  aunt's 
dwelling,  which  occupied  half  of  the  next  to  the  top  floor 
of  a  four-story  building ;  the  flat  above  being  the  dwell 
ing  and  working-place  of  a  slop-shop  tailor.  He  was 
welcomed  with  sincere  affection  by  Aunt  Hannah  Mar 
tin,  and  with  shouts  of  delight  by  the  two  smaller 
children — the  two  older  ones  had  not  yet  come  back 
from  Sunday-school.  Mr.  Martin,  a  tallish  and  rather 
broad-shouldered  man,  with  a  face  whose  habitual  seri 
ousness  was  deepened  into  a  tombstone  solemnity  by  its 
breadth  and  flatness  in  the  region  of  the  cheek-bones, 
shook  hands  cordially,  but  with  a  touch  of  reserve  in 
favor  of  his  own  dignity,  saying,  "  How  are  you,  Charley  ? 
How's  things  with  you?"  He  was  proud  enough  of  his 
connection  with  a  prosperous  man  like  Millard,  and 
among  his  comrades  in  the  shop  he  often  affected  to 
settle  points  in  dispute  regarding  finance  or  the  ways  of 
people  in  high  life  by  gravely  reminding  the  others  that 
he  had  superior  opportunities  for  knowing,  since  his 
nephew  was  a  banker  and  "knew  all  the  rich  men  in 
Wall  street."  But  face  to  face  with  Charley  Millard  his 


IX  AVENUE  C.  113 

pride  was  rendered  uneasy,  and  he  generally  managed  to 
have  some  pressing  occasion  for  absenting  himself  on  the 
afternoons  of  Millard's  visits. 

Millard's  attentions  were  soon  engrossed  by  the  little 
boy  Tommy,  who  of  all  the  children  was  his  favorite. 
Tommy  climbed  on  his  knees  and  rifled  his  pockets,  cer 
tain  of  finding  something  hidden  there  for  himself. 
Presently  Millard  drew  Uncle  Martin  into  talk.  With 
his  chair  tilted  back  and  his  broad  hands  locked  together 
on  his  lap,  Uncle  Martin  gave  Charley  an  oracular  ac 
count  of  all  the  mistakes  which  his  employers  had  re 
cently  made  in  the  conduct  of  their  business.  From  his 
standpoint  the  affairs  of  the  company  were  usually  on  the 
high  road  to  bankruptcy,  and  all  because  of  certain  fail 
ures  of  judgment  which  Uncle  Martin  could  have  pointed 
out  in  a  moment  had  they  taken  the  trouble  to  consult  a 
man  of  his  experience.  When  Charley  suggested  that 
the  company  had  paid  an  eight  per  cent,  dividend  during 
the  past  year  Uncle  Martin  put  on  a  look  of  contempt, 
and  shook  his  head. 

"  Dividing  their  capital  in  order  to  keep  up  the  price 
of  stock,"  he  said  sagely.  Then  he  proceeded  to  show 
that  if  they  would  only  do  this  and  not  do  the  other  they 
might  easily  crowd  their  rivals  to  the  wall.  He  knew 
three  months  before  it  took  place  that  tin  would  fall  in 
price.  But  the  company  laid  in  a  big  stock  just  in  time 
to  get  caught. 

Having  done  the  polite  by  Uncle  Martin,  Millard 
turned  to  Aunt  Hannah.  Uncle  Martin  proceeded,  there 
fore,  to  fill  up  the  stove ;  which  done,  he  said : 


114  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  "Well,  Charley,  I  am  going  to  see  one  of  the  men  in 
our  shop  that  got  his  foot  hurt  a  week  ago  Friday.  I'll 
see  you  at  supper ;  you'll  take  tea  with  us." 

"  Thank  you,  Uncle  Martin,  but  this  time  I  can't 
stay  so  long.  I've  promised  to  take  dinner  with  some 
friends." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  Uncle  Martin  said  good- 
by,  and  good  luck  to  you,  and  come  again,  and  always 
glad  to  see  you,  Charley,  and  then  made  his  exit,  stooping 
a  little  as  he  went  out  through  the  low  door,  leaving 
Charley  what  he  wanted  most,  a  chance  to  talk  with  his 
aunt  about  the  progress  her  children  were  making  in 
their  studies,  and  to  find  out  what  he  could  do  to  help 
them.  The  mother  told  him  that  besides  their  school 
they  were  reading  some  books  brought  to  them  by  Dick's 
Sunday-school  teacher,  who  took  a  great  interest  in  all 
the  children.  Millard  always  expected  to  hear  the  praises 
of  this  Sunday-school  teacher  when  he  came  to  see  his 
aunt.  Once  on  this  theme  good  Aunt  Hannah  could  not 
easily  stop. 

"  She  doesn't  put  on  the  fine  lady  or  talk  to  me  as 
though  I  was  somebody  different  because  I  am  a  work- 
ingman's  wife.  I  haven't  many  friends;  the  people  down 
here  are  so  different  from  the  people  up  in  the  country. 
But  I  think  she  is  the  best  friend  I  ever  had.  There, 
she's  coming  up  now,"  she  said,  hearing  the  clatter  of 
feet  and  voices  ascending  the  stairway. 

Millard  was  a  little  curious  to  see  the  teacher  of  whom 
he  had  heard  so  much.  He  figured  to  himself  some  one 
only  a  little  above  his  aunt  in  station,  and  so  the  more 


IX  AVENUE  C.  115 

ready  to  form  an  intimacy -with  humble  people.  When 
Mary  and  Dick  threw  open  the  hall  door  of  the  apart 
ment,  so  as  to  make  the  interior  visible  from  the  obscurity 
of  the  stair-landing,  Millard,  who  was  sitting  with  his 
back  to  the  door,  holding  Tommy  on  his  lap,  heard  the 
voice  of  Phillida  Callender  say : 

"  I'll  not  go  in  this  time ;  you  have  company." 

"  Do  come  in ;  it's  only  our  Cousin  Charley,"  pleaded 
Mary  Martin,  a  girl  of  fourteen. 

Millard  felt  himself  caught,  and  he  would  have  liked 
to  sit  there  and  let  Miss  Callender  go  down  the  stairs 
without  recognizing  him.  But  he  felt  that  he  must  be 
polite  to  her  above  all  things,  and  his  relationship  to  the 
Martins  was  not  a  thing  to  be  ashamed  of,  and  must 
besides  soon  be  known  to  Phillida.  So  he  rose  with 
quick  decision  and  said  as  he  walked  towards  the  door : 

"Don't  let  my  presence  keep  you  from  coming  in, 
Miss  Callender ;  I  am  on  the  point  of  leaving." 

"  You,  Mr.  Millard  !  "  Phillida  came  forward,  coloring 
a  little,  while  Aunt  Hannah  and  the  children  stood  and 
looked  on  in  amazement.  "  Who  would  have  believed  it ! 
You  are  the  cousin — the  Cousin  Charley  of  whom  the 
children  here  speak  as  though  he  were  a  good  fairy. 
They  pronounce  the  name  J/t7Zerd,  you  know,  and  I 
didn't  suspect  you" 

"  But  fancy  my  surprise ! "  said  Millard.  "  I  ought  to 
have  guessed  that  such  a  famous  Sunday-school  teacher 
could  not  be  anybody  but  Miss  Callender.  But  I  didn't 
even  think  to  ask  the  name.  So  you  are  the  person  of 
whose  praises  I  am  so  jealous  when  I  come  here." 


THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  Don't  you  think  we're  lucky  to  have  such  a  cousin?" 
said  Dick  Martin,  the  second  child  and  the  eldest  boy, 
looking  up  at  Miss  Callender. 

"Ah!  now,  Dick,  you  can't  trap  me  into  praising  Mr. 
Millard  to  his  face,"  said  Miss  Callender.  "  Maybe  I'll 
tell  you  some  time  when  he  isn't  here  what  I  think  of 
him."  She  was  patting  Dick  on  the  shoulder.  "But 
I  don't  mind  telling  Mr.  Millard  right  here  and  now  that 
he  is  a  very  lucky  man  to  have  such  an  aunt  as  your 
mother." 

"  Well  said  and  true,"  answered  Millard.  "  I  like  that 
better  than  anything  Miss  Callender  could  say  about  me, 
Dick,  even  if  what  she  should  say  were  to  be  all  good ; 
and  that  it  wouldn't  be,  for  she  speaks  the  truth,  and  I'll 
tell  you  for  a  secret  that  she  doesn't  quite  approve  of  a 
man  that  wastes  his  leisure  time  as  I  do.  She'd  like  me 
better  if  I  were  to  come  down  to  the  mission  every  Sun 
day." 

"  Well,  there  ain't  anybody  at  the  mission  as  good  as 
you,  except  Miss  Callender,"  objected  Dick. 

That  young  lady  only  laughed  and  put  her  arms  about 
Tommy,  who  had  deserted  Millard  and  was  now  climbing 
on  her  lap. 

This  encounter  advanced  Millard's  acquaintance  with 
Phillida  more  than  a  dozen  calls  or  conversations  in 
formal  society.  Phillida  was  pleased  to  find  that  Millard 
was  not  merely  a  male  butterfly,  and  he  in  turn  felt 
strangely  drawn  to  this  young  woman  who  had  discovered 
the  royal  excellence  of  Aunt  Hannah  Martin  amid  the 
rubbish  of  Avenue  C.  Millard,  who  was  "just  going " 


IN  AVENUE  C.  117 

when  Phillida  came  in,  sat  out  the  half-hour  that  she 
staid,  and  when  she  rose  to  go  he  asked  her  if  he  might 
have  the  pleasure  of  walking  with  her  as  far  as  Second 
Avenue.  It  seemed  to  him,  though  he  did  not  say  so, 
that  a  young  lady  needed  an  escort  in  that  part  of  the 
town ;  but  Phillida,  who  knew  the  people  better,  had  no 
such  thought. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Millard,"  she  said ;  "  I  should  be 
glad  of  your  company.  But  I  am  not  going  home ;  I  am 
going  to  Washington  Square :  I  promised  my  aunt  that 
I  would  go  directly  there  from  Sunday-school,  and  now 
I've  staid  here  longer  than  I  intended,  and  I  shall  be 
late." 

"  Why,  I'm  expected  there  too.  If  you  don't  object 
we'll  go  together." 

The  two  said  good-by  all  around  and  descended  the 
stairs,  holding  on  to  the  narrow  steps  with  their  heels,  as 
it  were.  When  they  came  into  the  light,  and  breathed 
the  cool  salt  air  blowing  into  the  avenue  from  the  neigh 
boring  East  River,  Phillida,  who  had  something  on  her 
mind,  said  rather  awkwardly  : 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  expected  at  Aunt 
Harriet's  this  evening." 

The  speech  was  one  of  maidenly  modesty ;  if  Aunt 
Gouverneur  had  planned  to  bring  the  two  people  to 
gether  at  her  table,  Phillida  wished  it  known  that  she 
was  not  a  party  to  the  plot.  But  Millard  laughed  and 
said : 

"If  you  had  known,  I  am  to  understand  that  you 
would  have  declined  to  go." 


118  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  I  did  not  say  that  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  you 
there,"  she  answered,  with  the  hesitancy  of  one  stepping 
among  pitfalls. 

"  Shall  we  take  the  Tenth  street  car  ?  "  asked  Millard. 
"  It  runs  through  Eighth  street  on  the  west  side." 

"  As  you  please.  I  should  have  walked  if  alone,"  said 
Phillida. 

"  And  I  would  much  rather  walk  with  good  company 
than  ride.  So  we  will  walk." 

It  took  them  full  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  reach 
Washington  Square,  though  either  would  have  done  it 
alone  in  a  quarter  less,  for  walking  is  a  kind  of  work  that 
is  not  shortened  when  shared  with  a  friend. 

Millard  purposely  drew  Miss  Callender  into  talk  about 
the  work  of  the  mission,  and  he  was  soon  rewarded  by 
seeing  her  break  through  her  habitual  restraint  and  re 
veal  the  enthusiastic  self  within.  She  told  him  of  the 
reading-room  at  the  mission,  and  of  the  coffee-room  where 
rolls  and  hot  coffee  were  served  to  men  every  day  in  the 
week,  so  as  to  keep  them  from  the  saloons.  Her  face 
was  aglow  with  interest  as  she  talked,  but  Millard  would 
rather  have  drawn  her  to  speak  of  her  own  relation  to 
the  work.  This  she  avoided,  beyond  confessing  that  she 
took  her  turn  with  the  other  ladies  in  superintending  the 
coffee-room.  At  length,  however,  as  they  passed  one  of 
those  open  stairways  that  lead  to  thronged  tenements 
ab0ye, — like  the  entrance  to  a  many-chambered  ant-hill, 
save  that  this  mounts  and  that  descends, — she  spoke  to  a 
lad  on  the  sidewalk,  telling  him  to  give  her  love  to  his 
sister  and  say  that  she  was  coming  in  to  see  her  the  next 


IN  AVENUE  C.  119 

day.  To  Millard  she  explained  that  the  boy's  sister  was 
an  invalid  young  woman  on  one  of  the  upper  floors,  bed 
ridden  for  many  years. 

"And  you  visit  her?"  asked  Millard,  with  a  hardly 
concealed  repulsion  at  the  notion  of  Phillida  climbing 
these  populous  stairs  and  threading  the  dingy  and  mal 
odorous  hallways  above. 

u  Yes ;  she  thinks  so  much  of  seeing  me — because  I  am 
well,  I  suppose.  She  says  it  makes  her  stronger  just  to 
look  at  me.  And  if  I  can  take  her  a  flower,  or  some  little 
bit  of  outdoors,  it  is  more  in  her  life  than  a  trip  to  the 
country  would  be  in  mine.  Poor  Wilhelmina  Schulenberg 
has  not  been  down  the  stairs  for  five  years.  We  talk  of  try 
ing  to  get  an  invalid's  chair  for  her  when  the  warm  weather 
comes,  so  that  her  brother  can  wheel  her  in  the  Square." 

Millard  turned  and  looked  again  at  the  stairway  as 
though  noticing  all  the  particulars  of  its  environment. 
It  was  a  balmy  day  in  the  last  of  February,  and  they  were 
soon  crossing  Tompkins  Square  diagonally  towards  Eighth 
street.  He  had  caught  the  infection  of  Phillida's  exalta 
tion  ;  instead  of  feeling  repulsion  at  sight  of  the  swarm 
ing  children  in  cheap  and  often  shabby  clothes,  racing 
madly  up  and  down  the  broad  asphalted  walks,  instead  of 
turning  in  aversion  from  the  commonplace  people  sitting 
talking,  staring,  smoking,  sleeping,  flirting,  or  courting 
on  the  benches,  he  was  able  to  take  Miss  Callender's  view 
of  the  matter  and  to  feel  gratified  that  the  poor,  and  es 
pecially  the  little  folk  so  long  winter-cribbed  in  narrow 
tenements,  were  now  able  to  get  so  much  happiness  in 
the  open  ground. 

~\  /vtA-^     A  s\     .  .  t  AA. 


IX. 

WASHINGTON  SQUARE  AND  ELSEWHERE. 

MRS.  GOUVERNEUB  had  invited  both  Phillida  and 
Millard  to  a  family  dinner  this  evening  with  a  notion  of 
furthering  their  acquaintance  and  drawing  her  niece  into 
society.  She  would  not  admit  to  herself  any  purpose  or 
expectation  ulterior.  She  had  engaged  each  one  to  come 
two  hours  before  dinner  to  make  a  quiet  afternoon  of  it, 
and  when  she  found  them  both  unpunctual  she  won 
dered. 

"  Philip,"  she  said  to  her  son,  who  was  sitting  by  the 
window  reading  a  folio  volume  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne, 
"  I  asked  Phillida  to  come  early  this  afternoon,  and  I 
can't  imagine  what  keeps  her." 

"  Oh,  some  leper,  or  some  one  who  has  fallen  among 
thieves.  It's  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  a  Christian.  I  have 
only  known  three  or  four,  and  Phillida  is  one  of  them." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  we  are  not  all  Christians  ?  " 
demanded  Philip's  father,  a  taciturn  man  with  a  rather 
handsome  face  of  the  broad  Dutch  type.  What  history 
it  carried  was  mainly  one  of  good  dinners  and  fine  wines. 
The  senior  Gouverneur  had  been  sitting  looking  into  the 
fire  for  half  an  hour  without  saying  a  word.  His  son's 
way  of  treating  the  sacred  white  elephants  of  convention- 


WASHINGTON   SQUARE  AND   ELSEWHERE. 

ality  was  the  main  grief  of  this  dignified,  well-bred,  en 
tirely  commonplace  man. 

"  Yes,  you're  all — we're  all,  Christians  in  the  sense 
that  we're  neither  Jews,  Mohammedans,  nor  Buddhists. 
But  most  of  us  don't  belong  to  the  same  totem  with 
Jesus." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  same  totem  with  Jesus  ?  " 
said  the  mother,  who  could  not  help  shuddering  a  little  at 
the  temerity  of  her  son's  paradoxes,  though  fondly  indul 
gent  of  his  irreverent  cleverness. 

"  A  totem  among  the  Indians  is  the  subdivision  of  a 
tribe.  The  Mohawks  or  Cayugas,  for  example,  were  sub 
divided  into  totems  called  the  <  Wolf,'  the  '  Turtle,'  the 
4  Bear.'  Every  man  belonged  to  the  totem  of  his  mother 
and  was  akin  to  everybody  in  it.  If  a  Mohawk  of  the 
Wolf  totem  stopped  in  the  village  of  the  Cayugas  or  the 
Senecas,  he  was  entertained  by  some  Seneca  of  the  same 
totem  who  claimed  him  for  a  kinsman." 

"  That's  very  curious,"  said  his  mother. 

"  I  don't  see  what  it's  got  to  do  with  your  cousin  Phil- 
lida  or  with  religion,"  said  Mr.  Gouverneur,  who  as  an 
elder  in  the  Dutch  Reformed  Church,  and  as  the  descend 
ant  of  a  long  line  of  men  and  women  who  had  traveled 
in  the  same  well-worn  path  since  the  good  old  days  of 
the  Synod  of  Dort,  felt  much  annoyed  at  Philip's  way 
wardness. 

"  Wei],"  said  Philip,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  and 
letting  the  folio  rest  on  his  knees,  "  you  see  there  are  re 
ligious  totems  that  run  through  all  denominations  of 
Christians  and  even  through  different  religions,  and  the 


122  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

lines  of  cleavage  between  them  are  deeper  than  those  be 
tween  Moslems  and  Christians,  or  between  Jews  and  idola 
ters.  There  is  what  I  call  the  totem  of  the  Wahahbees — 
the  people  who  translate  religion  into  dispute  or  perse 
cution.  In  central  Asia  they  get  rid  of  an  opponent  by 
assassination  in  the  name  of  Almighty  God  and  his 
prophet.  In  the  United  States  doctrine  defenders  are  in 
conveniently  placed,  and  they  have  to  be  content  with 
newspaper  and  pulpit  scolding  and  with  excommunicating 
those  who  differ  from  them.  Then  there  is  the  most  re 
spectable  sect  of  all — the  Pharisees,  which  counts  emi 
nent  divines  and  rabbis  of  every  religion  among  its  peo 
ple.  Great  church-goers  and  Sabbath-keepers,  great  dis 
tributors  of  shalls  and  shall-nots,  great  observers  of  scru 
ples  and  ordinances.  They  hold  a  tight  rein  over  recrea 
tions  and  keep  their  mint-and-cumin  tithes  by  double- 
entry.  Now,  Phillida  is  no  Wahahbee  and  she  is  no 
Pharisee.  She  is  not  above  enjoying  herself  at  your  table 
on  Sunday  evening,  you  see,  or  going  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough's 
reception.  She  takes  her  religion  in  the  noblest  way. 
Her  enthusiasms  all  have  a  philanthropic  coloring.  She's 
what  I  call  a  Jesus-ite." 

"  Ah,  now,  Philip,"  said  his  mother,  half-amused  and 
half-startled  by  the  irreverent  sound  of  this  expression, 
but  full  of  admiration  for  Philip's  originality. 

"  And  what  are  you,  please  ?  "  demanded  his  father 
with  some  severity  and  a  slightly  heightened  color.  He 
knew  that  Philip  must  be  wrong,  for  he  had  never  seen 
anything  of  this  sort  in  the  "  Christian  Intelligencer  "  in 
his  life.  "  What  are  you  ?  "  he  repeated. 


WASHINGTON  SQUARE  AND  ELSEWHERE.      123 

"  Only  a  poor  doubting,  mocking,  useless  Sadducee,  I 
suppose,"  said  the  son  as  he  bent  again  over  the  Religio 
Medici.  There  was  a  touch  of  dejection  in  his  voice, 
which  served  to  disarm  that  resentment  which  his  father 
felt  towards  every  view  of  anything  that  varied  from  the 
consecrated  commonplace. 

The  door-bell  rang,  and  Mrs.  Gouverneur,  who  had 
intended  that  Phillida  and  Millard  should  each  consider 
the  other  a  mere  coincidence,  was  a  little  disconcerted  to 
have  them  enter  together  at  a  later  time  than  she  had  set, 
and  with  an  air  of  slight  fatigue,  as  though  they  had 
come  from  a  long  walk.  And,  moreover,  without  a 
chaperon.  The  acquaintance  was  progressing  more  rap 
idly  than  she  had  expected. 

Millard  smilingly  explained :  "  I  encountered  Miss 
Callender  in  a  very  unfashionable  quarter  of  the  city,  and 
I  thought  it  my  duty  to  take  charge  of  her." 

At  ten  o'clock  that  evening  Phillida  was  escorted  to 
her  home,  her  cousin  Philip  Gouverneur  walking  on  one 
side  and  Millard  on  the  other.  She  left  them  with  a 
pleased  sense  of  having  passed  an  uncommonly  happy 
afternoon  and  evening,  but  was  alarmed,  nevertheless,  to 
think  what  a  romance  Agatha  would  build  out  of  the  en 
counter  with  Mr.  Millard  in  Avenue  C  and  the  detected 
contrivance  of  Aunt  Gouverneur. 

And  when  she  had  finished  deprecating  Agatha's  rapt 
ures  and  had  escaped  her  sister's  further  questions  by  go 
ing  to  bed,  Phillida  found  that  her  own  imagination  had 
at  length  been  set  a-going,  and  her  pillow  reveries  kept 
her  awake.  Why  was  it  always  Mr.  Millard  ?  She  had 


THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

chanced  upon  him  at  Mrs.  Hilbrough's ;  his  desire  to 
bring  Mrs.  Gouverneur  to  the  Hilbrough  reception  had 
made  him  her  escort;  and  now  most  unexpectedly  she 
finds  that  he  and  she  are  intimates  and,  in  a  sense,  bene 
factors  in  the  same  tenement  in  Avenue  C ;  they  are  com 
panions  in  a  walk,  and  again  guests  at  the  same  table. 
It  made  her  superstitious  ;  these  coincidences  looked  like 
fate— or  rather  like  a  special  manifestation  of  the  will  of 
Providence— to  the  mind  of  Phillida  Callender. 

Undeniably  there  was  something  in  Charles  Millard 
that  attracted  her.  He  was  not  just  of  her  own  kind,  but 
if  he  had  been  would  she  have  liked  him  so  well  ?  Cer 
tainly  the  young  men  at  the  mission,  exemplary  fellows 
that  they  were,  did  not  excite  even  a  languid  interest  in 
her  mind.  Millard  took  life  less  seriously  than  she  did, 
but  perhaps  that  very  otherness  was  agreeable  :  when  one 
is  prone  by  nature  to  travel  dusty  paths  and  dutifully  to 
wound  one's  feet  on  mountainous  rocky  roads,  a  compan 
ion  who  habitually  beckons  to  green  sward  and  shady 
seats,  who  makes  life  put  on  a  little  more  of  the  air  of  a 
picnic  excursion  into  the  world,  is  a  source  of  refresh 
ment.  She  now  knew  that  Millard  was  not  without  be 
nevolence,  that  he  clung  faithfully  to  his  aunt  in  spite  of 
his  connections  in  the  great  world,  and  that  he  was  plan 
ning  to  assist  in  the  education  of  his  cousins.  If  she  had 
not  somewhat  exaggerated  these  virtues  of  fidelity  and 
generosity  she  would  not  have  been  a  woman,  for  it  is 
one  of  the  crowning  good  fortunes  of  life  that  a  woman 
can  contrive  to  make  so  much  of  a  little  virtue  in  a  man. 

Having  left  Phillida,  Millard  and  Gouverneur  walked 


WASHINGTON  SQUARE  AND  ELSEWHERE.      125 

together  up  Second  Avenue,  past  the  closed  gateways  of 
Stnyvesant  Park.  Millard  was  doing  the  talking,  at  a 
great  rate.  Philip  was  silent  in  regard  to  everything,  or 
if  he  spoke  he  said  only  so  much  as  a  decent  courtesy  de 
manded.  This  soon  became  tiresome  to  Millard,  who  was 
relieving  the  internal  pressure  of  his  thoughts  by  mere 
bubble  talk  about  things  of  no  interest  to  himself,  while  it 
seemed  impossible  to  excite  his  companion's  interest  in 
anything. 

"  You  and  I  have  changed  places  to-night,  Phil,"  he 
said  at  length  ;  "  you  make  me  do  all  the  talking.  Come 
now,  it's  your  turn." 

"  I  don't  feel  in  the  humor,"  said  Philip.  "  Are  you 
going  to  the  club  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  shall  go  home  and  write  some  letters,  maybe, 
now  I  think  of  it.  So  good-night." 

Philip's  lt  Good-night  "  was  more  curt  than  courteous, 
and  he  made  his  way  to  the  club,  where,  according  to  his 
habit,  he  crouched  his  small  form  into  one  of  the  great 
chairs,  drawing  his  head  down  between  his  shoulders, 
which  were  thrust  upward  by  the  resting  of  his  elbows 
on  the  chair-arms.  Here  he  sat  long,  taking  no  part  in 
any  conversation,  but  watching  the  smoke  from  his  cigar. 

The  next  morning  he  came  late  to  breakfast,  and  his 
mother  lingered  after  the  rest  had  left  the  table,  to  see 
that  his  coffee  and  chops  were  right  and  to  mitigate  his 
apparent  depression. 

"  Your  little  match-making  scheme  is  likely  to  succeed 
beautifully,"  he  said  to  her  when  the  servant  had  gone. 

"What  do  you  mean?    I'm  sure  I  had  no  views  of 


126  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

that  kind  in  asking  Charley  Millard  and  Phillida.  I 
only  wished  to  encourage  Phillida  to  go  more  into  so 
ciety." 

"  Views  or  no  views,  what  it'll  come  to  will  be  a 
match,"  Philip  retorted. 

"  Well,  there'll  be  no  harm  done,  I  suppose." 

"  Not  if  you  think  Charley  the  best  man  for  her." 

There  was  something  of  dejection  in  the  tone  of  this 
last  remark,  and  a  note  of  reproach  to  her,  that  rendered 
Mrs.  Gouverneur  uneasy.  "When  Philip  had  left  the  table 
she  revolved  it  in  her  mind.  Was  Philip  himself  in  love 
with  Phillida  ?  Or  did  he  know  anything  to  the  disad 
vantage  of  Millard  ? 

"  Tell  Mr.  Philip  I  wish  to  see  him  before  he  goes 
out,"  she  said  to  one  of  the  maids. 

When  Philip  came  to  her  room  she  looked  at  him  with 
anxiety. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  against  Charley,  Philip?  " 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  said  Philip,  emphatically,  as  he 
pulled  on  his  gloves, 

"  Philip,  tell  me  truly,  do  you  care  for  your  cousin 
yourself  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course.  She  is  my  cousin,  and  a  good  girl 
— a  little  too  fearfully  good." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  Philip.  Don't  trifle  with 
me." 

"  What  would  be  the  use  of  my  caring  for  Phillida,  as 
you  call  it  ?  Charley,  with  his  usual  luck,  will  get  her,  I 
am  sure.  You've  fixed  that." 

"  Now,  Philip,  you  reproach  me  unjustly.     You've 


WASHINGTON  SQUARE  AND  ELSEWHERE.      127 

had  years  of  intimacy  with  Phillida.     Why  did  you  never 
let  her  know  what  your  feelings  were  ?  " 

"  I  ?  I  haven't  said  that  I  have  any  feelings  in  the 
matter.  Do  you  think  Phillida  would  have  me  if  Charley 
were  out  of  the  way  ?  She  knows  me  too  well.  She's  a 
utilitarian.  She  would  say,  *  Cousin  Phil  is  interesting, 
but  he  hides  his  talent  in  a  napkin.  He  studied  law,  and 
now  neglects  to  practise  it  because  his  uncle  left  him  two 
or  three  thousand  dollars  a  year.'  To  her  I  am  only  an 
idler,  when  I'm  not  a  mocker." 
"  She  likes  you,  I  am  sure." 

"  Yes,  in  a  way,  no  doubt.  But  I'm  a  doubter,  and  a 
mocker,  and  a  failure,  and  Phillida  knows  it.  And  so 
do  I." 

"  Ah,  now,  Philip,  why  will  you  be  so  discouraged 
with  yourself  ?  You're  the  cleverest  young  man  in  New 
York." 

But  Philip  only  smiled  and  said,  "  Good-morning, 
mother,"  and  ran  down  the  stairs  and  out  the  door. 

When  Philip  had  left  Millard  in  Second  Avenue  the 
evening  before,  the  latter  was  puzzled.  He  had  never 
seen  Gouverneur  so  depressed  and  irritable.  But  when 
they  had  separated,  Millard  was  relieved  that  he  no  longer 
had  to  force  a  conversation  about  things  of  no  interest  to 
himself,  and  that  his  thoughts  were  at  length  free  to 
range  where  they  would. 

He  turned  his  footsteps  towards  his  apartment,  mak 
ing  a  detour  through  Madison  Square  to  lengthen  the 
stroll.  His  interest  in  and  affection  for  the  family  of  his 
aunt  was  a  fact  so  paradoxical  to  the  rest  of  his  life  that 


128  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

it  was  in  some  sense  his  main  secret.  It  was  not  a  thing 
he  should  like  to  have  explained  to  Philip  Gouverneur, 
his  bosom  friend,  for  example.  But  that  Phillida  Cal- 
lender  was  now  in  possession  of  the  chief  secret  of  his  life 
gave  him  a  sort  of  pleasure  he  had  never  known  before. 
That  she  was  in  friendship  with  his  aunt's  family  and  a 
sharer  in  this  off-color  part  of  his  existence  made  a  sort 
of  community  of  feeling  between  him  and  her.  He 
turned  the  matter  over  in  his  mind,  he  went  over  in 
memory  all  parts  of  his  encounter  with  her  in  his  aunt's 
tenement,  he  dwelt  upon  the  glow  of  surprise  on  her 
countenance,  and  in  imagination  he  again  took  her  hand 
in  friendly  greeting.  He  recalled  every  detail  of  the 
walk  through  Avenue  C,  in  Tompkins  Square,  and  then 
through  the  cross-streets.  He  made  himself  feel  over 
again  the  pleasure  he  had  felt  in  those  rare  moments 
when  she  turned  her  dark,  earnest  eyes  toward  him  at 
some  more  than  usually  interesting  moment  in  the  con 
versation. 

This  was  the  pleasant  side  of  the  reverie.  For  the 
rest,  he  was  tormented  with  a  certain  feeling  of  unworthi- 
ness  that  had  never  troubled  him  so  much  before.  The 
more  he  thought  of  the  purposes,  sweet,  high,  and  dis 
interested,  that  moved  her,  the  more  was  he  pained  at  a 
sense  of  frivolity,  or,  at  least,  at  a  want  of  "  worthwhile  • 
ness"  in  his  own  aims.  He  was  a  communicant  at  St. 
Matthias's,  and  highly  esteemed  for  his  exemplary  life 
and  his  liberality  to  the  church.  But  the  rector  of  St. 
Matthias's  did  not  trouble  himself,  as  Phillida  did,  about 
the  lost  sheep  in  the  wilderness  of  the  lettered  avenues. 


WASHINGTON  SQUARE  AND  ELSEWHERE.      129 

His  own  flock,  well  washed  and  kempt,  were  much  more 
agreeable  subjects  of  contemplation. 

Millard  sat  in  revery  a  long  time.  He  was  really 
afraid  that  he  should  presently  find  himself  in  love  with 
Miss  Callender,  and  such  a  marriage  was  contrary  to  his 
whole  plan  of  life.  His  purpose  was  primarily  to  remain 
a  bachelor,  though  he  had  dreamed  of  himself  well  estab 
lished,  but  always  with  a  wife  whose  tastes  and  connec 
tions  should  incline  her  to  those  pursuits  that  go  with  a 
fashionable  career,  and  he  always  saw  a  vision  of  himself 
and  his  wife  entertaining  the  very  elect  of  New  York 
City.  Here  suddenly  a  new  path,  hitherto  untrodden  by 
his  imagination,  opened  before  him  as  a  possibility. 
Judged  by  the  standards  used  among  his  friends  it  was 
an  undesirable  road.  It  involved  a  voluntary  sacrifice  of 
that  position  of  social  prominence  and  leadership  which 
he  had  striven  so  hard  to  secure.  He  resolved  to  put  the 
thought  away  from  him. 

A  little  later  his  lights  were  out  and  he  was  abed. 
But  he  did  not  sleep  at  once,  for  in  spite  of  the  best 
resolutions  he  could  not  help  recalling  again  and  again 
the  face  and  figure,  the  voice  and  movement,  of  Phillida 
Callender.  Again  and  again  he  crossed  Tompkins  Square 
and  walked  through  Eighth  street  and  Waverley  Place 
with  her ;  and  she  once  more  confronted  him  across  Mrs. 
Gouverneur's  dinner-table. 

One  result  of  Millard's  meditations  was  a  desire  to 
relieve  his  conscience  by  sharing  a  little — if  ever  so  little 
—in  the  effort  to  improve  the  life  of  the  multitudinous 
East-siders.  To  touch  them  by  personal  effort  and  con- 


130  THE  FAITH  DOCTOK. 

tact  was  out  of  the  question ;  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  attempt  it,  nor  would  it  have  availed  anything,  per 
haps,  if  he  had,  for  the  East-siders  would  have  shrunk 
from  his  gloves  as  instinctively  as  he  did  from  their 
work-darkened  palms.  But  there  was  the  other  resort 
of  his  check-book.  He  sent  a  check  the  next  evening  to 
the  superintendent  of  the  mission.  He  stated  that  he 
remitted  this  as  assistant  cashier  of  the  Bank  of  Manha- 
does  on  behalf  of  a  gentleman  who  did  not  wish  his  name 
known,  and  requested  that  the  subscription  be  announced 
merely  as  from  "A  Well-wisher."  One  half  of  the  hun 
dred  dollars  was  to  go  to  the  expenses  of  the  coffee-room 
and  the  other  half  to  be  appropriated  to  the  library  and 
reading-room. 

Now  it  is  not  in  the  nature  of  things  that  a  hen 
should  see  a  new  egg  in  her  nest  without  cackling  over 
it,  or  that  a  man  in  charge  of  a  benevolent  enterprise 
should  have  a  hundred-dollar  check  mysteriously  and  un 
expectedly  dropped  into  his  hat  without  talking  about  it. 
Such  a  gift  smacks  of  special  divine  favor,  and  offers  a 
good  theme  for  an  address  calculated  to  animate  those 
engaged  in  the  work.  The  very  next  Sunday,  when  the 
Testaments  had  been  shut  up  and  the  lesson  papers  had 
all  been  put  away,  Phillida  and  the  others  heard  from  the 
superintendent  some  very  inspiriting  remarks  on  the  sub 
ject  of  the  encouragements  which  ought  to  make  them 
take  heart  in  their  work.  He  wound  up,  of  course,  by 
telling  of  this  donation  from  an  unknown  well-wisher. 
Had  he  stopped  there— but  what  talker  to  young  people 
would  or  could  have  stopped  there  ?  He  whisked  out  the 


WASHINGTON  SQUARE  AND  ELSEWHERE. 

check  and  showed  it,  and  then  the  identical  letter  from 
the  assistant  cashier  of  the  Bank  of  Manhadoes  was  held 
up  before  the  admiring  boys  and  girls  and  read  aloud  to 
show  how  modestly  this  benevolent  well-wisher  had  hid 
den  his  hand. 

And  thus  the  only  person  in  the  audience  from  whom 
Millard  had  particularly  wished  to  conceal  his  agency  in 
the  matter  knew  perfectly  that  the  anonymous  well-wisher 
was  none  other  than  the  assistant  cashier  himself.  And 
she  thought  what  a  fine  thing  it  was  to  have  money  when 
there  was  so  much  good  to  be  done  with  it. 


X. 

BROKEN  RESOLVES. 

the  check  was  dispatched,  Millard's  conscience, 
which  had  been  aroused — irritated — by  the  standing  re 
buke  of  Phillida's  superior  disinterestedness,  was  in  a 
measure  appeased.  After  sitting  an  hour  in  slippery 
meditation  he  resolved  to  master  his  inclination  toward 
Miss  Callender's  society,  for  fear  of  jeopardizing  that 
bachelor  ideal  of  life  he  had  long  cherished.  Hilbrough's 
especial  friendship,  supported  by  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  grati 
tude,  had  of  late  put  him  in  the  way  of  making  money 
more  rapidly  than  heretofore ;  the  probable  early  retire 
ment  of  Farnsworth  would  advance  him  to  the  cashier- 
ship  of  the  bank,  and  there  opened  before  him  as  much 
as  he  had  ever  desired  of  business  and  social  success.  It 
was  not  exactly  that  he  put  advantages  of  this  sort  into 
one  side  of  the  scale  and  the  undefmable  charms  of 
Phillida  into  the  other.  But  he  was  restrained  by  that 
natural  clinging  to  the  main  purpose  which  saves  men 
from  frivolous  changes  of  direction  under  the  wayward 
impulses  of  each  succeeding  day.  This  conservative  hold 
ing  by  guiding  resolutions  once  formed  is  the  balance- 
wheel  that  keeps  a  human  life  from  wabbling.  Western 
hunters  used  to  make  little  square  boxes  with  their  names 


BROKEN  RESOLVES.  133 

graven  in  reverse  on  the  inside.  These  they  fixed  over  a 
young  gourd,  which  grew  till  it  filled  the  box.  Then  the 
hunter  by  removing  the  box  and  cutting  off  the  end  of 
the  stem  of  the  gourd,  to  make  an  opening  like  the 
mouth  of  a  bottle,  secured  a  curious  natura}  powder- 
flask,  shaped  to  his  fancy  and  bearing  his  name  in  relief 
on  its  side.  Like  the  boxed  gourd,  the  lives  of  men  be 
come  at  length  rigidly  shaped  to  their  guiding  purposes, 
and  one  may  read  early  resolutions  ineffaceably  inscribed 
upon  them.  But  the  irony  of  it !  Here  was  Millard,  for 
example,  a  mature  man  of  affairs,  held  to  a  scheme  of 
life  adopted  almost  by  accident  when  he  was  but  just 
tottering,  callow,  from  his  up-country  nest.  What  a 
haphazard  world  is  this  !  Draw  me  no  Fates  with  solemn 
faces,  holding  distaffs  and  deadly  snipping  shears.  The 
Fates?  Mere  children  pitching  heads  and  tails  upon  the 
paving-stones. 

But  if  the  dominant  purpose  to  which  the  man  has 
fitted  himself  is  not  to  be  suddenly  changed,  there  are 
forces  that  modify  it  by  degrees  and  sometimes  gradually 
undermine  and  then  break  it  down  altogether.  The  man 
whose  ruling  purpose  is  crossed  by  a  grand  passion  may 
say  to  himself,  like  the  shorn  Samson,  "  I  will  go  out  as 
at  other  times  before,"  for  the  change  that  has  come  over 
him  is  subtle  and  not  at  once  apparent  to  his  conscious 
ness.  Millard  resolutely  repressed  his  inclination  to  call 
on  Miss  Callender,  resolutely  set  himself  to  adhere  to  his 
old  life  as  though  adherence  had  been  a  duty.  But  he 
ceased  to  be  interested  in  the  decorations  and  amused  by 
the  articles  of  virtu  in  his  apartment ;  he  no  longer  con- 


134:  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

templated  with  pleasure  the  artistic  effect  of  his  rich 
portieres  and  the  soft  tone  of  his  translucent  window- 
hangings.  The  place  seemed  barren  and  lonely,  and  the 
life  he  led  not  much  worth  the  having  after  all. 

But,  like  the  brave  man  he  was,  he  stuck  to  his  resolu 
tion  not  to  call  on  Miss  Callender,  from  a  sort  of  blind 
loyalty  to  nothing  in  particular.  Perhaps  a  notion  that 
a  beau  like  himself  would  make  a  ridiculous  figure  suing 
to  such  a  saint  as  Phillida  had  something  to  do  with  his 
firmness  of  purpose.  But  when,  a  month  later,  he  started 
once  more  for  Avenue  C,  he  became  at  length  aware  that 
he  had  not  made  any  headway  whatever  in  conquering 
his  passion,  which  like  some  wild  creature  only  grew  the 
fiercer  under  restraint.  In  spite  of  himself  he  looked 
about  in  hope  of  meeting  Miss  Callender  in  the  street, 
and  all  the  way  across  the  avenues  he  wondered  whether 
he  should  encounter  her  at  his  aunt's.  But  Phillida  had 
taken  precautions  against  this.  She  remembered,  this 
time,  that  the  last  Sunday  in  the  month  was  his  day  for 
visiting  his  aunt,  and  she  went  directly  home  from  the 
mission,  disturbed  in  spite  of  herself  by  conflicting  emo 
tions. 

Millard  could  not  but  respect  her  dignified  avoidance 
of  him,  which  he  felt  to  be  in  keeping  with  her  charac 
ter.  He  listened  with  such  grace  as  he  could  to  Uncle 
Martin,  whose  pessimistic  oration  to-day  chanced  to  be 
on  the  general  ignorance  and  uselessness  of  doctors.  His 
complaints  about  the  medical  faculty  were  uttered  slowly 
and  with  long  pauses  between  the  sentences.  Doctors, 
according  to  Uncle  Martin,  only  pretend  to  know  some- 


BROKEN  RESOLVES.  135 

thing,  and  use  a  lot  of  big  words  to  fool  people.  "  Now 
I  doctor  myself.  I  know  what  does  me  good,  and  I  take 
it,  doctor  or  no  doctor."  This  was  said  with  a  you-don't- 
fool-me  expression  on  his  solemn  face.  "  Wy,  one  doc- 
tor'll  tell  you  one  thing,  and  another'll  tell  you  another. 
One  says  bathing's  good  for  you,  and  another  says  no ;  one 
wants  you  to  get  up  bright  and  early,  and  another  says 
sleep  a  plenty;  one  will  half-starve  you,  and  the  other 
says  the  thing  is  to  feed  you  up." 

At  this  point  Uncle  Martin  rested  his  elbows  against 
his  sides,  threw  his  forearms  outward  and  upward  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  holding  his  broad  palms  toward 
the  ceiling,  while  he  dropped  his  heavy  shorn  chin  upon 
his  breast  and  gazed  impressively  upon  Millard  from 
under  his  eyebrows  The  young  man  was  rendered 
uneasy  by  this  climactic  pause,  and  he  thought  to  break 
the  force  of  Uncle  Martin's  attitude  by  changing  the 
subject. 

"  Doctors  differ  among  themselves  as  much  as  minis 
ters  do,"  he  said. 

"  Ministers  ?  "  said  Uncle  Martin,  erecting  his  head 
again,  and  sniffing  a  little.  "  They  are  just  after  money 
nowadays.  Wy,  I  joined  the  Baptist  church  over  here  " 
— beckoning  with  his  thumb — "  when  I  came  to  New 
York,  and  the  minister  never  come  a-nigh  us.  We  are 
not  fine  enough,  I  suppose.  Ministers  don't  believe  the 
plain  Bible  ;  they  go  on  about  a  lot  of  stuff  that  they  get 
from  somewheres  else.  I  say  take  the  plain  Bible,  that  a 
plain  man  like  me  can  understand.  I  don't  want  the 
Greek  and  Latin  of  it.  Now  the  Bible  says  in  one  place 


136  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

that  if  a  man's  sick  the  elders  are  to  pray  over  him  and 
anoint  him  with  oil — I  suppose  it  was  sweet  oil ;  but  I 
don't  know — that  they  used.  But  did  you  ever  know  any 
elder  to  do  that  ?  Naw ;  they  just  off  for  the  doctor.  Now, 
I  say  take  the  plain  word  of  God,  that's  set  down  so't  you 
couldn't  noways  make  any  mistakes." 

Here  Uncle  Martin  again  dropped  his  head  forward  in 
a  butting  position,  and  stared  at  Charley  Millard  from 
under  his  brows.  This  time  the  younger  man  judged  it 
best  to  make  no  rejoinder.  Instead,  he  took  the  little 
Tommy  in  his  arms  and  began  to  stroke  the  cheeks  of 
the  nestling  child.  The  diversion  had  the  proper  effect. 
Uncle  Martin,  perceiving  that  the  results  of  his  ex 
haustive  meditations  in  medicine  and  theology,  which 
were  as  plain  as  the  most  self-evident  nose  on  a  man's 
face,  were  not  estimated  at  their  par  value,  got  up  and 
explained  that  he  must  go  to  Greenpoint  and  call  on  a 
man  who  had  lately  lost  a  child  ;  and  then,  fearing  he 
wouldn't  get  back  to  supper,  he  said  good-by,  and  come 
again,  and  always  glad  to  see  you,  Charley,  and  good  luck 
to  you ;  and  so  made  his  way  down  the  dingy  stairs. 

Charley  Millard  now  turned  to  his  aunt,  a  thin-faced 
woman  whose  rather  high  forehead,  wide  and  delicately 
formed  in  the  region  of  the  temples,  made  one  think  that 
in  a  more  favorable  soil  she  might  have  blossomed.  She 
was  sitting  by  the  window  that  looked  out  upon  the  nar 
row  courtyard  below  and  on  the  rear  house  to  which 
Aunt  Martin's  apartment  was  bound  by  a  double  clothes 
line  running  upon  pulleys.  In  fact  the  whole  straitened 
landscape  in  view  from  the  back  windows  was  a  vision  of 


BROKEN  RESOLVES  1ST 

ropes  on  pulleys.  Sunday  was  the  only  day  that  Mrs. 
Martin  cared  to  look  on  this  view,  for  on  week-days  it 
was  a  spectacle  of  sheets  and  pillow-cases  and  the  most 
intimate  male  and  female  garments  flapping  and  strad 
dling  shamelessly  in  the  eddying  wind. 

Millard,  while  yet  the  older  children  had  not  returned, 
broached  the  subject  of  their  education.  He  particularly 
wished  to  put  Mary,  the  eldest,  into  a  better  school  than 
the  public  school  in  her  neighborhood,  or  at  least  into  a 
school  where  the  associations  would  be  better.  He  pro 
posed  this  to  his  aunt  as  delicately  as  possible. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you,  Charley,"  she  said.  "  You 
want  to  make  a  fine  lady  of  her.  But  what  would  you 
do  with  her?  Would  it  make  her  any  happier?  She 
would  want  better  clothes  than  we  could  give  her ;  she 
would  become  dependent  on  you,  maybe ;  and  she  would 
be  ashamed  of  the  rest  of  us." 

"  She  could  never  be  ashamed  of  you,  aunt,"  said 
Millard.  But  he  was  struck  with  a  certain  good  sense 
and  originality  in  his  aunt  which  kept  her  from  accepting 
anything  for  good  merely  because  it  was  commonly  so 
taken.  What  service,  indeed,  would  it  be  to  Mary  to  de- 
class  her  ?  Of  what  advantage  to  a  poor  girl  to  separate 
her  from  her  surroundings  unless  you  can  secure  to  her  a 
life  certainly  better  ? 

"  It  would  be  well,"  he  said  after  a  while,  "  if  Mary 
could  prepare  herself  for  some  occupation  by  which  she 
might  some  day  get  a  living  if  other  resources  fail.  You 
wouldn't  like  her  to  have  to  go  out  to  service,  or  to  fall 
below  her  family,  Aunt  Hannah  ?  " 


138  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

"  No ;  certainly  not.  But  there's  the  trouble.  Her 
father  is  like  many  other  men  from  the  country  ;  he  can't 
bear  the  idea  of  Mary's  earning  her  own  living.  He 
says  he  expects  to  support  his  own  girls.  And  you  know 
Henry  won't  have  her  educated  at  your  expense.  He's 
very  proud.  But  if  she  could  somehow  get  into  a  school 
better  than  the  public  schools  in  this  part  of  the  city,  a 
school  where  she  would  get  better  teaching  and  meet  a 
better  class  of  children,  I  would  like  it,  provided  she  did 
not  get  a  notion  of  being  a  fine  lady.  There  is  nothing 
worse  than  half -cut  quality,  and  that's  all  she'd  be.  And 
are  you  sure,  Charley,  that  rich  people  are  happier  than 
we  are  ?  We  don't  worry  about  what  we  haven't  got." 

The  children  were  now  upon  the  stairs,  and  the  pri 
vate  talk  was  ended.  They  greeted  their  cousin  eagerly, 
and  began  as  usual  to  talk  of  Miss  Callender. 

"  We  tried  to  bring  her  home  with  us,"  said  Dick, 
"  but  she  said,  c  Not  to-day,  Dick,  not  to-day,'  and  she 
stuck  to  it.  I  told  her  you'd  be  here,  and  I  thought  that 
would  fetch  her,  but  she  only  laughed  and  said  she  had  to 
call  and  see  a  poor  sick  young  lady  that  hadn't  walked 
for  five  years ;  and  then  she  said,  '  Give  my  love  to  your 
mother,'  and  left  us.  I  sh'd  thought  she'd  'a'  sent  her 
love  to  Cousin  Charley,  too,  but  she  never  done  it." 

"  Don't  say  '  never  done  it,'  Dick,"  broke  in  Mary. 
"  It's  not  proper." 

Millard  accepted  his  aunt's  invitation  to  tea,  and  then 
walked  homeward  by  a  very  round-about  way.  He  was 
not  quite  aware  of  the  nature  of  the  impulse  that  caused 
him  to  turn  downtown  and  thus  to  trace  a  part  of  the 


BROKEN  RESOLVES.  '  139 

route  he  had  walked  over  with  Phillida  four  weeks  before. 
lie  paused  to  look  again  at  the  now  dark  stairway  up 
which  lived  the  bedridden  Wilhelmina  Schulenberg,  and 
though  he  shuddered  with  a  sort  of  repulsion  at  thought 
of  her  hard  lot,  it  was  not  sympathy  with  Mina  Schulen 
berg  that  had  arrested  his  steps  at  the  mouth  of  this 
human  hive.  To  his  imagination  it  seemed  that  these 
dark,  uninviting  stairs  were  yet  warm  with  the  tread  of 
the  feet  of  Phillida  Callender ;  it  could  not  be  more  than 
two  hours  since  she  came  down.  So  instead  of  following 
the  route  of  a  month  ago  through  Tompkins  Square  and 
Eighth  street,  as  he  had  half  unconsciously  set  out  to  do, 
he  walked  through  Tenth  street  to  Second  Avenue.  This 
way  Phillida  must  have  gone  this  very  afternoon,  and  this 
way  he  felt  himself  drawn  by  an  impulse  increasing  in 
force  ever  as  he  journeyed.  It  seemed  of  prime  impor 
tance  that  he  should  call  on  Miss  Callender  without  de 
lay,  just  to  consult  her  about  Mary's  education.  His' 
reasoning  in  favor  of  this  course  was  convincing,  for  logic 
never  gets  on  so  well  as  when  inclination  picks  all  the 
pebbles  out  of  the  pathway. 

A  long  discussion  concerning  Mary  Martin's  education 
was  held  that  evening  between  the  young  people  sitting 
by  the  drop-lamp  in  Mrs.  Calender's  parlor.  Many  nice 
theories  were  broached  by  each  of  them,  but  during  the 
whole  of  the  discussion  they  were  both  in  a  state  of 
double  consciousness.  Canvassing  Mary  and  her  outlook 
in  life  in  one  center  of  thought,  they  were  thinking  and 
feeling  more  profoundly  regarding  the  outlook  in  life  of 
two  other  people  in  another  vortex  of  brain  action.  For 


140  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

Phillida  could  not  conceal  from  herself  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Millard  was  only  half  interested  in  what  he  was  saying, 
but  was  utterly  absorbed  in  her  with  whom  he  was  talk 
ing.  His  passion,  so  long  denied,  now  had  its  revenge, 
and  even  the  training  of  a  man  of  the  world  to  conceal 
what  he  felt  and  to  say  what  he  did  not  think  was  of 
no  avail  against  it. 

Notwithstanding  the  divided  state  of  their  minds,  in 
consequence  of  which  Mary's  interests  got  only  a  minority 
of  attention,  her  interests  did  not  fare  badly,  for  the  very 
effort  to  keep  the  thoughts  and  feelings  that  were  eddy 
ing  below  the  surface  from  engulfing  their  whole  mental 
action  forced  both  talkers  to  concentrate  their  minds 
earnestly  upon  Mary's  schooling. 

In  the  first  place  both  of  them  admitted  the  force  of 
Mrs.  Martin's  objection  to  declassing  Mary  in  such  a  way 
as  to  leave  her  segregated  from  family  ties.  Then  it 
came  out  that  Phillida  did  know  a  school— not  a  fine 
school,  but  a  good  school — where  Mary  would  not  be 
without  companions  in  sober  clothes,  and  where  the 
teacher,  a  Miss  Gillies,  knew  her  business  and  had  not  too 
many  scholars.  But  how  to  overcome  Uncle  Martin's 
objection  to  being  helped  by  his  wife's  nephew  ? 

"  If,"  said  Millard  "  the  teacher  of  whom  you  speak 
had  given  to  her  a  sufficient  amount  to  pay  the  tuition  of 
some  suitable  girl  from  a  plain  family,  she  would  natu 
rally  consult  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  think  so,"  said  Phillida. 

"  And  under  such  circumstances  why  could  you  not 
recommend  Mary  ?  " 


BROKEN  RESOLVES.  141 

Phillida  hesitated. 

"  I  see  you  are  more  truthful  than  we  men  of  business, 
who  could  not  keep  our  feet  without  little  ruses.  There 
would  be  an  implied  deception  of  Uncle  Martin,  you 
think.  Well,  then,  I  will  make  the  subscription  absolute, 
and  will  leave  Miss  Gillies  in  entire  control  of  it.  I  will 
advise  her  to  consult  you.  If  she  does,  and  you  think 
some  other  child  than  Mary  ought  to  have  it,  or  if  it 
should  be  refused  for  Mary,  you  may  give  it  to  some  one 
else.  Do  you  know  any  one  else  who  would  profit  by 
such  a  tuition  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ! " 

"  Well,  perhaps  a  better  way  would  be  this.  I'll  make 
it  double,  and  you  may  have  the  entire  disposal  of  both 
scholarships,  if  Miss  Gillies  will  let  you.  Suppose  I  leave 
it  to  you  to  communicate  the  fact  to  her  ?  " 

"That  will  be  very  good,  indeed";  and  Phillida's 
face  lost  for  a  moment  the  blushing  half-confusion  that 
had  marked  it  during  the  conversation,  and  a  look  of 
clear  pleasure  shone  in  her  eyes — the  enthusiastic  pleas 
ure  of  doing  good  and  making  happiness.  Millard  hardly 
rose  to  the  height  of  her  feeling;  it  was  not  to  be  ex 
pected.  Whenever  her  face  assumed  this  transfigured  look 
his  heart  was  smitten  with  pain — the  mingled  pain  of  love 
intensified  and  of  hope  declining;  for  this  exaltation 
seemed  to  put  Phillida  above  him,  and  perhaps  out  of  his 
reach.  Why  should  she  fly  away  from  him  in  this  way? 

"  And  may  I  come — to-morrow  evening,  perhaps — to 
inquire  about  this  matter?"  he  said,  making  a  movement 
to  depart. 


142  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

The  question  brought  Phillida  to  the  earth  again,  for 
Millard  spoke  with  a  voice  getting  beyond  his  control  and 
telling  secrets  that  he  would  fain  have  kept  back.  His 
question,  tremulously  put,  seemed  to  ask  so  much  more 
than  it  did !  She  responded  in  a  voice  betraying  emotion 
quite  out  of  keeping  with  the  answer  to  a  question  like 
this,  and  with  her  face  suffused,  and  eyes  unable  to  look 
steadily  at  his,  which  were  gazing  into  hers. 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Millard,"  she  said. 

He  took  her  hand  gently  and  with  some  tremor  as  he 
said  good-evening,  and  then  he  descended  the  brownstone 
steps  aware  that  all  debate  and  hesitancy  were  at  an  end. 
Come  what  might  come,  he  knew  himself  to  be  irretrieva 
bly  in  love  with  Phillida  Callender.  This  was  what  he 
had  gained  by  abstaining  from  the  sight  of  her  for  four 
weeks. 

When  the  elevator  had  landed  him  on  one  of  the  high 
floors  of  the  Graydon  Building,  a  bachelor  apartment 
house,  and  he  had  entered  his  own  parlor,  the  large  win 
dows  of  which  had  a  southern  outlook,  he  stood  a  long 
time  regarding  the  view.  The  electric  lights  were  not 
visible,  but  their  white  glow,  shining  upward  from  the 
streets  and  open  squares,  glorified  the  buildings  that  were 
commonplace  enough  in  daytime.  Miles  away  across  a 
visible  space  of  water  Liberty's  torch  shone  like  a  star  of 
the  fifth  magnitude.  The  great  buildings  about  the  City 
Hall  Park,  seen  through  a  haze  of  light,  seemed  strangely 
aerial,  like  castles  in  a  mirage  or  that  ravishing  Celestial 
City  which  Bunyan  gazed  upon  in  his  dreams.  A  curved 
line  of  electric  stars  well  up  toward  the  horizon  showed 


BROKEN  RESOLVES.  143 

where  the  great  East  River  Bridge  spanned  the  unrest 
ing  tides  far  below.  Millard's  apartment  was  so  high 
that  the  street  roar  reached  it  in  a  dull  murmur  as  of  a 
distant  sea,  and  he  stood  and  absorbed  the  glory  of  the 
metropolitan  scene — such  a  scene  as  was  never  looked 
upon  in  any  age  before  our  own  decade — and  it  was  to 
him  but  a  fit  accompaniment  to  his  passion  for  Phillida, 
which  by  its  subjective  effect  upon  him  had  transformed 
all  life  and  the  universe  itself.  A  month  before  he  had 
sat  and  stared  a  hard-coal  fire  out  of  countenance  in 
apprehension  of  falling  in  love  with  Phillida.  Now  he 
eagerly  drank  in  the  glory  of  earth  and  air,  and  loved  her 
without  reserve  and  without  regret. 


XL 
IN  THE  PARK. 

ALTHOUGH  love  had  at  length  come  to  Millard  like 
an  inundation  sweeping  away  the  barriers  of  habit  and 
preconception,  he  was  quite  aware  that  Phillida  Callen- 
der's  was  not  a  temperament  to  forget  duty  in  favor  of 
inclination,  and  the  strength  of  his  desire  to  possess  her 
served  as  a  restraint  upon  his  action.  He  followed  the 
habits  of  business  negotiation  even  in  love-making;  he 
put  down  his  impatience  and  made  his  approaches  slowly 
that  he  might  make  sure  of  success.  As  a  prudent  begin 
ning  to  his  courtship  he  called  on  Phillida  at  first  but 
once  a  week.  She  soon  regained  her  wonted  placidity  of 
exterior,  and  Millard  found  it  difficult  to  divine  how  far 
his  affection  was  reciprocated. 

For  himself,  he  kept  up  his  round  of  post-Easter  social 
engagements.  It  would  be  time  enough  to  lop  these  off 
if  Phillida  should  require  it  when  his  affairs  with  her 
should  be  upon  a  more  secure  footing.  Phillida,  too,  kept 
up  a  series  of  post-Easter  engagements,  but  of  another 
sort.  Besides  the  ordinary  work  of  the  mission,  and  the 
extraordinary  work  attending  the  preparations  for  Fresh 
Air  excursions  for  the  invalid  poor  which  were  to  be  car 
ried  on  in.  the  heats  of  summer,  she  went  once  a  week  to 


IN  THE   PARK.  145 

the  parlor  Bible  readings  of  Mrs.  Frankland,  which  were, 
in  fact,  eloquent  addresses,  and  which  served  greatly  to 
stimulate  her  zeal.  Thus  these  two  lovers  journeyed 
upon  paths  that  had  no  convergence,  even  while  feeling 
themselves  drawn  irresistibly  toward  each  other. 

As  April  wore  into  May,  Millard  ventured  on  more 
frequent  attentions,  and  from  day  to  day  meditated  how 
he  might  light  on  an  opportunity  to  tell  her  what  he  felt 
and  wished.  But  at  her  house  he  was  always  held  in 
check  by  remembering  the  crash  of  an  overturned  chair 
at  the  time  of  his  first  call,  and  he  could  not  speak  very 
confidential  words  with  no  other  screen  than  those  thin 
sliding  doors.  When  on  two  occasions  he  contrived  to 
encounter  Phillida  returning  from  her  Sunday  afternoon 
mission  to  the  east,  he  thought  he  perceived  certain  traces 
of  debate  going  on  in  her  mind,  and  an  apparent  effort 
on  her  part  to  hold  the  talk  to  cool  and  indifferent  topics. 
That  she  was  strongly  attracted  to  him  he  readily  be 
lieved,  and  had  she  been  a  woman  of  the  ordinary  type 
this  would  have  been  sufficient.  But  she  was  Phillida 
Callender,  and  he  who  would  win  her  must  gain  consent 
not  alone  of  her  affections  but  of  her  conscience  as  well, 
and  of  her  judgment.  Such  a  decision  as  he  should  ask 
her  to  make  would  be  tried  by  the  test  of  the  high  life 
purpose  that  ruled  her  and  looked  on  all  interfering  de 
lights  and  affections  with  something  like  fierceness.  For 
how  shall  one  of  the  daughters  of  God  be  persuaded  to 
wed  one  of  the  sons  of  men  ? 

And  thus,  by  the  procrastination  that  comes  of  lack  of 
opportunity,  and  the  procrastination  that  comes  of  timid- 

10 


146  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

ity,  the  spring  was  fast  passing  into  summer.  Hilbrough 
had  taken  Millard  into  partnership  in  an  enterprise  of  his 
own — the  reorganization  of  a  bankrupt  railway  company 
in  the  interest  of  the  bondholders.  It  was  necessary  to 
secure  the  co-operation  of  certain  English  holders  of  the 
securities,  and  Hilbrough  felt  sure  that  a  man  of  Millard's 
address  and  flexibility  would  achieve  more  than  he  him 
self  could  in  a  negotiation  abroad.  So  it  was  arranged 
that  on  the  first  Saturday  in  June  the  assistant  cashier 
sHould  sail  for  London  011  a  ten  weeks'  leave  of  absence 
from  the  bank,  and  that  when  his  business  in  London 
should  be  completed  he  was  to  make  a  short  tour  over  the 
well-beaten  paths  of  European  travel.  This  arrangement 
rendered  it  necessary  that  Millard  should  bring  his  diplo 
matic  delays  to  an  end,  and  run  the  risk  of  an  immediate 
proposal  to  Phillida  Callender. 

Memorial  Day  came  round,  and  all  the  land  showed  its 
sorrow  for  the  innumerable  host  that  perished  untimely 
in  deadly  battle  and  deadlier  hospital  by  keeping  the  day 
right  joyously.  This  gave  Millard  a  holiday,  and  he  set 
off  after  a  lazy  breakfast  to  walk  up  Fifth  Avenue  and 
through  Central  Park.  He  proposed  to  explore  the 
Ramble  and  meditate  all  the  time  how  he  might  best 
come  to  an  understanding  with  Phillida  that  very  even 
ing. 

He  entered  the  Park  at  the  southeast  corner,  but  in 
stead  of  pushing  straight  up  to  the  Mall,  a  childish  im 
pulse  to  take  a  hurried  glance  at  the  animals  deflected 
him  toward  the  old  armory.  The  holiday  crowd  already 
gathering  proved  quite  too  miscellaneous  for  his  fastidi- 


IN  THE  PARK. 

ous  nerves ;  the  dumb  brutes  he  could  stand,  but  these 
pushing  and  chattering  human  monkeys  were  uninterest 
ing,  and  he  went  on  through  the  region  of  wild  beasts 
to  that  of  tame  ones,  where  the  patient  donkeys  were 
busily  employed  carrying  timid  little  children  and  show 
ing  their  skill  in  their  favorite  game  of  doing  the  least 
possible  amount  of  work  in  any  given  time.  Though  the 
motion  of  these  creatures  was  barely  perceptible,  the  pace 
seemed  frightful  to  some  of  the  alarmed  infants  clinging 
to  their  backs.  Millard  looked  at  them  a  moment  in 
amusement,  then  refusing  the  donkey  path  he  turned  to 
the  left  toward  the  shady  Mall.  The  narrow  walk  he 
chose  was  filled  to-day  with  people,  who,  having  fed  the 
elephant,  admired  the  diving  of  the  seal,  wondered  at  the 
inconceivable  ugliness  of  the  hippopotamus,  watched  the 
chimpanzee  tie  knots  in  the  strands  of  an  untwisted  rope 
by  using  her  four  deft  hands,  and  shuddered  a  little  at 
the  young  alligators,  were  now  moving  away — a  confused 
mass  of  children,  eager  to  spend  their  nickels  for  a  ride  at 
the  carrousel,  and  elders  bent  on  finding  shelter  from  the 
heat  under  the  elms  that  overhang  the  Mall.  There  was 
a  counter-current  of  those  who  had  entered  the  Park  by 
remoter  gateways  and  were  making  their  way  toward  the 
menagerie,  and  Millard's  whole  attention  was  absorbed  in 
navigating  these  opposite  and  intermingling  streams  of 
people  and  in  escaping  the  imminent  danger  of  being  run 
over  by  some  of  the  fleet  of  baby-carriages.  From  a 
group  of  three  ladies  that  he  had  just  passed  a  little 
beyond  the  summer-house,  he  heard  a  voice  say,  half 
under  breath : 


148  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  Mr.  Millard,  I  declare  !  " 

It  was  Agatha  Callender,  and  as  he  turned  to  greet 
her  he  saw  behind  her  Phillida  supporting  her  mother. 

"  Mama  is  not  very  well,  and  we  persuaded  her  to  take 
a  holiday,"  explained  Agatha ;  "  and  I  am  trying  to  find 
a  way  for  her  out  of  this  crowd." 

Millard  took  charge  of  the  convoy  and  succeeded  in 
landing  the  party  on  shady  seats  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
Mall,  where  the  colossal  Walter  Scott  is  asking  his  dis 
tinguished  countryman  Robert  Burns,  just  opposite,  if  all 
poets  engaged  in  the  agonizing  work  of  poetic  compo 
sition  fall  into  such  contortions  as  Burns  does  in  this  per 
petual  brass. 

After  a  while  Agatha  grew  as  restless  as  the  poet  seems 
in  the  statue.  She  had  brought  money  enough  to  take 
her  party  about  the  Park  in  the  regular  coaches,  and 
spending-money  unspent  always  made  Agatha  unhappy. 
She  now  broached  the  subject  of  taking  a  coach,  and  re 
membered  that  it  was  a  free  day  at  the  Art  Museum. 
Millard  proposed  to  go  to  the  Fifth  Avenue  gate  and 
get  a  carriage  for  the  party.  This  extravagance  the  pru 
dent  Mrs.  Callender  would  not  consent  to,  and  so  Millard 
conducted  the  ladies  to  the  place  where  Shakspere,  a 
little  weak  in  the  knees,  has  long  been  doing  his  best, 
according  to  his  ability,  to  learn  a  part  in  a  new  play. 
The  first  coach  that  came  by  had  but  two  vacancies. 
Millard  hailed  it,  and  said  promptly ; 

"  Now,  Miss  Agatha,  we  shall  not  find  four  places  in 
one  coach  to-day.  You  and  Mrs.  Callender  get  into  this 
one,  and  take  stop-over  checks  at  the  Museum.  Miss 


IN  THE   PARK.  149 

Callender  and  I  will  join  you  there  in  the  next  coach  or 
on  foot." 

There  was  no  time  for  debate,  and  before  Mrs.  Cal 
lender  could  muster  her  wits  to  decide  what  was  best  to 
be  done  about  this,  Charley's  gloved  hands  had  gently 
helped  her  into  the  coach,  put  Agatha  in  beside  her,  and 
handed  a  half-dollar  to  the  driver  for  the  fare.  Just  as 
Mrs.  Callender  was  beginning  to  protest  against  this  last 
act  the  coach  rolled  away,  and  Agatha  saw  Mil  lard  and 
Phillida  face  about  without  waiting  for  another  coach 
and  return  toward  Shakspere  and  the  Mall. 

"  I  oughtn't  to  have  let  him  pay  for  us,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Callender. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  feel  under  any  obligations,"  whis 
pered  Agatha ;  "  he  just  wanted  to  be  alone  with  Phil 
lida." 

But  now  that  Millard  had  seized  the  advantage  of  an 
unchaperoned  stroll  with  Phillida,  he  found  himself  with 
out  the  courage  to  use  it.  The  very  suddenness  with 
which  they  had  been  left  to  themselves  made  Phillida 
feel  that  a  crisis  was  imminent,  and  this  served  to  give 
her  an  air  of  confusion  and  restraint.  In  presence  of 
this  reserve  Millard  drew  back. 

The  two  strolled  along  the  Mall,  admiring  the  wide, 
elm-shaded  triple  avenue,  and  talking  of  uninteresting 
subjects.  They  were  involved  once  more  in  the  ever 
growing  holiday  crowd,  and  Millard  saw  with  vexation 
that  his  opportunity  was  slipping  away  from  him.  When 
they  had  traversed  the  length  of  the  Mall  and  were  ap 
proaching  the  bust  of  Beethoven,  Phillida  said  suddenly : 


150  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"There  is  Mina  Schulenberg  in  a  wheel-chair.  I 
wonder  how  she  contrived  to  get  one." 

She  pushed  forward  toward  the  invalid,  but  Millard 
hung  back  a  little,  and  Phillida  suspected  that  he  was 
probably  ashamed  to  be  seen  talking  with  Mina,  who  was 
wheeled  by  her  brother,  a  stalwart  young  man  of  twenty, 
in  his  Sunday  clothes. 

"  0  Miss  Callender,  is  it  you  ?  Do  you  see  my  chair 
already  ?  It  must  have  been  you  who  managed  to  get  it 
for  me." 

"  No,  Wilhelmina ;  indeed  I  knew  nothing  about  it 
till  I  saw  you  in  it  this  moment." 

"  Then  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  said  the  invalid. 
"  It  was  sent  up  from  a  place  down  in  Grand  street  al 
ready,  with  my  name  on  a  ticket  and  the  word  '  Paid ' 
marked  on  the  ticket.  I  wish  I  could  thank  the  one  that 
gave  it  to  me  wunst  already,  for  I  don't  feel  like  it  be 
longed  to  me  till  I  do." 

Phillida  turned  about  and  looked  at  Millard,  who  still 
lurked  behind  her.  When  he  met  her  penetrating  gaze 
he  colored  as  though  he  had  been  caught  doing  wrong. 

"Miss  Schulenberg,  this  is  Mr.  Millard,"  said  Phil 
lida.  "  I  don't  know  who  sent  you  this  chair ;  but  if  you 
thank  him  the  person  who  paid  for  your  chair  will  hear 
about  it,  I  feel  sure." 

Mina  looked  at  Millard.  The  faultlessness  of  his 
dress  and  the  perfection  of  style  in  his  carriage  abashed 
her.  But  she  presently  reached  her  emaciated  hand  to 
him,  while  tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  Millard  trembled  as 
he  took  the  semi-translucent  fingers  in  his  hand :  they 


IN  THE   PARK.  151 

looked  brittle,  and  he  could  feel  the  joints  through  his 
gloves  as  though  it  were  a  skeleton  that  thus  joined 
hands  with  him. 

"  You  gave  me  my  chair !  "  she  said.  "  Yesterday  I 
was  out  in  it  for  the  first  time  already — in  Tompkins 
Square.  But  to-day  Rudolph  here — he  is  such  a  good 
fellow — he  wanted  to  give  me  a  big  treat  wunst,  and  so 
he  brought  me  all  the  way  up  here  already  to  see  this 
beautiful  Park.  It's  the — the  first  time — "  but  shadowy 
people  like  Wilhelmina  hover  always  on  the  verge  of 
hysteria,  and  her  feelings  choked  her  utterance  at  this 
point. 

Millard  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  her  emotion.  He 
said  hastily,  "  Never  mind,  Miss  Schulenberg ;  never 
mind.  Good-morning.  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  your 
day." 

Then  as  he  and  Phillida  went  up  the  stairs  that  lead 
out  of  the  Mall  at  the  north  of  the  arbor  by  the  Casino, 
Millard  made  use  of  his  handkerchief,  explaining  that  he 
must  have  taken  a  slight  cold.  He  half  halted,  intend 
ing  to  ask  Phillida  to  sit  down  with  him  on  a  seat  partly 
screened  by  a  bush  at  each  end  ;  but  there  were  many  peo 
ple  passing,  and  the  two  went  on  and  mounted  the  steps 
to  the  circular  asphalted  space  at  the  top  of  the  knoll. 
Phillida,  shy  of  what  she  felt  must  come,  began  to  ask 
about  the  great  buildings  in  view,  and  he  named  for  her 
the  lofty  Dakota  Flats  rising  from  a  rather  naked  plain 
to  the  westward,  the  low  southern  facade  of  the  Art 
Museum  to  the  northward,  to  the  east  the  somber  front 
of  the  Lenox  Library,— as  forbidding  as  the  countenance 


152  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

of  a  rich  collector  is  to  him  who  would  borrow, — and  the 
columnar  gable  chimneys  of  the  Tiffany  house. 

Millard  now  guided  Phillida  to  a  descending  path  on 
the  side  of  the  hill  opposite  to  that  by  which  they  had 
come  up,  and  which  perversely  turned  southeastward  for 
a  while,  it  having  been  constructed  on  the  theory  that  a 
park  walk  should  describe  the  longest  distance  between 
any  two  points.  Here  he  found  a  seat  shaded  by  the 
horizontal  limbs  of  an  exotic  tree  and  confronted  by  a 
thicket  that  shut  out  at  this  season  almost  all  but  little 
glimpses  of  the  Tiffany  house  and  the  frowning  Lenox. 
He  asked  Phillida  to  sit  down,  and  he  sat  beside  her. 
The  momentary  silence  that  followed  was  unendurable 
to  Phillida's  excited  nerves,  so  she  said : 

"  Mr.  Millard,  it  was  a  splendid  thing  to  do." 

"What?" 

"  To  give  that  chair  to  Mina  Schulenberg,  and  all  so 
quietly." 

"  Miss  Callender — Phillida — may  I  call  you  Phillida  ?  " 

A  tone  of  entreaty  in  this  inquiry  went  to  her  heart 
and  set  her  thoughts  in  a  whirl.  It  was  not  possible  to 
say  "  No."  She  did  not  lift  her  eyes  from  the  asphalt, 
which  she  was  pushing  with  the  ferrule  of  her  parasol, 
but  she  said  "  Yes,"  filled  with  she  knew  not  what  pleas 
ure  at  having  Millard  use  this  familiarity. 

"  Phillida,  you  have  taught  me  a  great  deal.  It  is  to 
you  that  the  poor  girl  owes  her  ride  to-day,  and  to  you 
that  I  owe  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  enjoy  it.  I'm  not 
so  good  as  you  are.  I  am  a  rather — a  rather  useless  per 
son,  I'm  afraid.  But  I  am  learning.  And  I  want  to 


IN  THE  PARK.  153 

ask  you  before  I  go  away  whether  you  could  love 
me?" 

Phillida  kept  trying  to  bore  into  the  pavement  with 
her  parasol,  but  she  did  not  reply. 

After  a  pause  Millard  went  on.  "  I  know  you  don't 
decide  such  things  by  mere  passion.  But  you've  had 
reason  to  think  that  I  loved  you  for  a  good  while. 
Haven't  you?" 

«I — I  think  I  have."  This  was  said  with  difficulty 
after  a  pause  of  some  seconds. 

"And  you  must  have  thought  about  it,  and  turned 
it  over  in  the  light  of  duty.  Haven't  you — Phillida  ?  " 

This  address  by  her  Christian  name  startled  her.  It 
was  almost  like  a  caress.  But  presently  she  said,  "  Yes ; 
I  have."  She  remembered  that  her  prayer  this  very 
morning  had  been  that  before  she  should  be  called  upon 
to  decide  the  question  of  marrying  Millard  she  might 
have  some  sign  to  guide  her,  and  now  the  happy  face  of 
Wilhelmina  seemed  the  very  omen  she  had  sought. 

"  And  you  haven't  made  up  your  mind  to  reject  me  ?  " 
said  Millard. 

The  answer  this  time  was  longer  than  ever  in  coming. 

"  No ;  no,  Mr.  Millard." 

Millard  paused  before  putting  the  next  question. 
"  I'm  going  away,  you  know,  on  Saturday.  May  I  get 
out  of  that  last  answer  all  that  I  wish  to,  Phillida  ?  " 

The  parasol  trembled  in  her  hand,  and  perceiving 
that  it  betrayed  her  she  ceased  to  push  the  ground  and 
let  go  of  the  staff,  grasping  the  edge  of  the  seat  instead. 
Millard  could  see  her  frame  tremble,  and  in  his  eagerness 


154:  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

he  scarcely  breathed.  With  visible  effort  she  at  length 
slowly  raised  her  flushed  face  until  her  gaze  encountered 
his.  But  utterance  died  on  her  lips.  Either  from  some 
inclination  of  the  head  or  from  some  assent  in  her  eyes 
Millard  understood  her  unuttered  answer  to  be  in  the 
affirmative.  He  lifted  her  hand  from  the  seat  beside  him 
and  gently  kissed  it.  And  then  as  he  held  it  he  pres 
ently  felt  her  fingers  grasp  his  hand  ever  so  lightly.  It 
was  answer  enough.  A  noisy  party  was  coming  down  the 
steps  toward  them. 

"Now,  Phillida  dear,  we  must  go,"  he  said,  rising. 
"  Your  mother  will  not  know  what  has  detained  us." 

Phillida  looked  up  playfully  as  they  walked  away,  and 
said,  her  voice  still  husky  with  feeling  : 

"Agatha  will  be  sure  to  guess." 


XII. 
PHILIP. 

PHILIP  GOUVEKXEUR,  passing  the  Graydon  on  his 
return  from  a  dinner-party,  thought  to  make  a  farewell 
call  on  Millard.  He  encountered  Charley  in  the  elevator, 
just  coming  home  from  an  evening  with  Phillida,  his  face 
aglow  with  pleasure. 

"Fancied  I  should  find  you  packing,"  Philip  said. 
"  I  thought  as  you  would  cross  the  Alps  for  the  first  time 
I'd  come  and  give  you  a  few  points.  If  I  were  not  so 
lazy  and  inefficient  I  believe  I  should  go  with  you  and 
1  personally  conduct '  you." 

"  That  would  be  jolly.  Come  over  in  three  or  four 
weeks  and  I'll  be  quits  with  London.  We'll  engage  a 
traveled  English  valet  together,  and  journey  in  comfort. 
I  will  follow  your  lead  and  go  anywhere." 

"  No  ;  I  shall  not  get  over  this  year." 

They  entered  Millard's  rooms,  where  things  were  in  a 
state  of  upheaval,  but  orderly  even  in  their  upheaval. 
Seating  themselves  for  half  an  hour  by  the  open  win 
dows  they  talked  of  things  to  be  seen  in  Europe.  Then 
Philip,  remembering  that  his  friend  had  much  to  do,  rose 
to  go,  and  Millard  said  with  an  effort : 


156  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  Well,  Phil,  I'm  going  to  be  kin  to  you.  Congratu 
late  me." 

The  color  fled  from  Philip's  face  as  he  said  : 

"  How's  that  ?  " 

"  Phillida  Callender  and  I  are  engaged." 

"  You  and  Phillida  ?  "  said  Philip,  struggling  to  col 
lect  his  wits.  "  I  expected  it."  He  spoke  low  and  as 
though  some  calamity  had  befallen  him.  A  moment  he 
stood  trying  to  muster  his  forces  to  utter  some  phrase 
proper  to  the  occasion,  and  then  he  abruptly  said  : 

"  Good-night ;  don't  come  out " ;  and  walked  away 
toward  the  elevator  like  a  somnambulist  doing  what  he  is 
compelled  to  by  preconception  without  making  note  of 
his  environment.  And  Millard  wondered  as  he  looked 
after  him. 

The  next  morning  Philip  came  to  breakfast  so  late 
that  even  his  indulgent  mother  had  forsaken  the  table 
after  leaving  directions  to  "  have  things  kept  hot  for  Mr. 
Philip,  and  some  fresh  coffee  made  for  him." 

When  he  had  eaten  a  rather  slender  meal  he  sought 
his  mother's  sitting-room. 

"  Aunt  Callender  called  last  night,  I  hear.  She  must 
have  had  something  to  say,  or  she  would  hardly  have  per 
suaded  herself  to  leave  her  sewing  so  long." 

"  She  came  to  tell  me  of  Phillida's  engagement,"  said 
Mrs.  Gouverneur,  looking  at  Philip  furtively  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  supposed  that  was  it." 

"  Did  you  know  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Charley  Millard  told  me  last  night.  These 
lucky  fellows  always  take  it  for  granted  that  you'll  rejoice 


PHILIP.  157 

iu  all  their  good  fortune ;  they  air  their  luck  before  you 
as  though  it  were  your  own."  He  was  looking  out  of 
the  window  at  the  limited  landscape  of  Washington 
Square. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  feel  bad  about  it,"  said  his  mother. 

Philip  was  silent. 

"  I  never  dreamed  that  you  had  any  special  attach 
ment  for  Phillida,"  said  Mrs.  Gouverneur. 

"  What  did  you  think  I  was  made  of  ?  "  said  Philip, 
turning  toward  his  mother.  "  Since  she  came  from  Siam 
1  have  seen  her  about  every  week.  Now  consider  what  a 
woman  she  is,  and  do  you  wonder  that  I  like  her  ?  " 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  her  so  ?  " 

"  I  might  if  I'd  had  Charley's  brass.  But  what  is 
there  about  a  critical,  inefficient  young  man  like  me, 
chiefly  celebrated  for  piquant  talk  and  sarcasm — what  is 
there  to  recommend  me  to  such  a  woman  as  Phillida? 
If  I'd  had  Charley's  physique — I  suppose  even  Phillida 
isn't  insensible  to  his  appearance — but  look  at  me.  It 
might  have  recommended  me  to  her,  though,  that  in  one 
respect  I  do  resemble  St.  Paul — my  bodily  presence  is 
weak."  And  he  smiled  at  his  joke.  "  No,  mother,  I  am 
jealous  of  Charley,  but  I  am  not  disappointed.  I  never 
had  any  hopes.  I'd  about  as  soon  have  thought  of  mak 
ing  love  to  any  beatified  saint  in  glory  as  to  Phillida. 
But  Charley's  refined  audacity  is  equal  to  anything." 

The  mother  said  nothing.  She  felt  her  son's  bitter 
ness  too  deeply  to  try  to  comfort  him. 

"  I  hate  it  most  of  all  for  Phillida's  sake,"  Philip  went 
on.  "  It  can  not  be  a  happy  marriage.  Here  they've 


158  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

gone   and  engaged  themselves  without  reflection,  and  a 
catastrophe  is  sure  to  follow." 

"  Oh,  maybe  not,"  said  Mrs.  Gouverneur,  who  could 
not  help  feeling  that  Philip  partly  blamed  her  for  the  en 
gagement. 

"  Why,  just  look  at  it.  They  haven't  really  kept  com 
pany.  He  has  been  going  to  dinner  and  dancing  parties 
this  spring,  and  she  to  Mackerelville  Mission  and  Mrs. 
Frankland's  Bible  Readings.  If  they  should  discover 
their  incompatibility  before  marriage  it  wouldn't  be  so 
bad;  but  he's  off  to  Europe  for  the  summer,  and  then 
they'll  be  married  in  the  autumn,  probably,  and  then 
what  ?  Philiida  will  never  spend  her  time  dancing  ger- 
mans  with  Charley;  and  he  would  make  a  pretty  fist 
running  a  class  of  urchins  in  Mackerelville.  I  tell  you 
it  only  means  misery  for  both  of  them."  And  with  this 
prediction  Philip  mounted  to  his  own  room. 

Millard  was  too  busy  with  the  packing  of  trunks,  the 
arrangement  of  business,  and  farewell  visits  to  Philiida, 
to  give  much  thought  to  Philip's  curious  behavior ;  but  it 
troubled  him  nevertheless.  And  when,  on  the  deck  of 
the  steamer  Arcadia,  he  bade  good-by  to  a  large  circle  of 
friends,  including  Mr  Hilbrough,  who  brought  a  bouquet 
from  his  wife,  and  Mrs.  Callender  and  her  daughters,  he 
looked  about  in  vain  for  Philip.  He  could  no  longer 
doubt  that  for  some  reason  Philip  disliked  his  engage 
ment.  But  when  the  last  adieus  had  been  waved  to  di 
minishing  and  no  longer  distinguishable  friends  on  the 
pier-end,  and  the  great  city  had  shrunk  into  the  back 
ground  and  passed  from  view  as  the  vessel  glided  steadily 


PHILIP.  159 

forward  into  the  Narrows,  Millard  entered  his  cabin  and 
found  a  package  of  guide-books  and  a  note  from  Philip 
excusing  his  absence  on  the  ground  of  a  headache,  but 
hoping  that  his  friend  would  have  a  pleasant  voyage  and 
expressing  hearty  good  wishes  for  his  future  with  Phillida. 
It  was  all  very  curious  and  unlike  Philip.  But  the  truth 
below  dawned  upon  Charley,  and  it  gave  him  sorrow  that 
his  great  joy  might  be  Philip's  disappointment. 

When  September  had  come  Philip  sat  one  day  in  a 
wide  wicker  chair  on  the  piazza  of  the  old-fashioned  cot 
tage  of  the  Gouverneurs  at  Newport.  This  plain  but 
ample  cottage  had  once  held  up  its  head  stoutly  as  one  of 
the  best.  But  now  that  the  age  of  the  Newport  cliff- 
dwellers  had  come,  in  which  great  architects  are  em 
ployed  to  expend  unsparingly  all  the  ideas  they  have  ever 
borrowed,  on  cottages  costlier  than  kings'  palaces,  the 
Gouverneur  house  had  been  overshadowed,  and,  after  the 
manner  of  age  outstripped  by  youth,  had  taken  refuge  in 
the  inexpugnable  advantage  of  priority.  Like  the  family 
that  dwelt  within,  it  maintained  a  certain  dignity  of  re 
pose  that  could  well  afford  to  despise  decoration  and 
garniture,  and  look  with  contempt  on  newness.  The  very 
althaeas,  and  lilacs,  and  clambering  jasmines  in  the  door- 
yard  and  the  large  trees  that  lent  shade  to  a  lawn  along 
side,  bespoke  the  chronological  superiority  of  the  place. 
There  was  no  spruceness  of  biweekly  mowing  about  the 
lawn,  no  ambitious  spick-and-spanness  about  the  old, 
white,  wooden,  green-blinded  cottage  itself,  but  rather  a 
restful  mossiness  of  ancient  respectability. 

Here  Philip  watched  out  the  lazy  September  days,  as 


160  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

he  had  watched  them  since  he  was  a  lad.  This  was  a 
Newport  afternoon,  not  cloudy,  but  touched  by  a  certain 
marine  mistiness  which  took  the  edge  off  the  hard  out 
lines  of  things  and  put  the  world  into  tone  with  sweet 
do-nothingness.  Half-sitting,  half-lying,  in  the  wide 
piazza  chair,  clearly  not  made  to  measure  for  him,  Philip 
had  remained  for  two  hours,  reading  a  little  at  intervals, 
sometimes  smoking,  but  mostly  with  head  drawn  down 
between  his  shoulders  while  he  gazed  off  at  the  familiar 
trees  and  houses,  and  noted  the  passing  of  white-capped 
maids  with  their  infant  convoys,  and  the  infrequent  car 
riages  that  rolled  by.  His  mother,  with  her  fingers  busy 
at  something  of  no  consequence,  sat  near  him.  Each 
was  fond  of  the  other's  presence,  neither  cared  much  for 
conversation.  Gouverneur,  the  father,  was  enjoying  a 
fine  day  in  his  fashion,  asleep  on  a  lounge  in  the  library. 

"  It's  just  as  I  expected,  mother,"  said  Philip,  coming 
out  of  a  prolonged  reverie.  "  Charley  and  Phillida  will 
marry  without  ever  getting  acquainted,  and  then  will 
come  the  blow-out." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  blow-out  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Gouverneur.  "  They  are  neither  of  them  quarrelsome." 

"  No  ;  but  they  are  both  sensitive.  Aunt  Calender's 
sickness  took  Phillida  to  the  Catskills  before  he  got 
home,  and  she's  been  there  ever  since.  I  suppose  he  has 
gone  up  once  or  twice  on  a  Saturday.  But  what  chance 
has  either  of  them  to  know  the  other's  tastes  ?  What  do 
you  suppose  they  talk  about  ?  Does  Phillida  explain  her 
high  ideals,  or  tell  him  the  shabby  epics  of  lame  beggars 
and  blind  old  German  women  in  Mackerelville  ?  Or  does 


PHILIP.  1G1 

he  explain  to  her  how  to  adjust  a  cravat,  or  tell  her  the 
amusing  incidents  of  a  private  ball  ?  They  can't  go  on 
always  billing  and  cooing,  and  what  will  they  talk  about 
on  rainy  Sundays  after  they  are  married  ?  I'd  like  to  see 
him  persuade  Phillida  to  wear  an  ultra-fashionable  even 
ing  dress  and  spend  six  evenings  a  week  at  entertainments 
and  the  opera.  Maybe  it'll  be  the  other  way  ;  she  may 
coax  him  to  teach  a  workingmen's  class  in  the  Mission. 
By  George  !  It  would  be  a  comedy  to  see  Charley  try  it 
once."  And  Philip  indulged  in  a  gentle  laugh. 

"  You  don't  know  how  much  they  have  seen  of  each 
other,  Philip.  Phillida  is  a  friend  of  the  Hilbroughs, 
and  Mr.  Millard  once  brought  her  to  our  house  on 
Sunday  afternoon  from  the  Mission  or  somewhere  over 
there." 

"That's  so?"  said  Philip.  "They  may  be  better 
acquainted  than  I  think.  But  they'll  never  get  on." 

Perceiving  that  this  line  of  talk  was  making  his 
mother  uncomfortable,  he  said  : 

"  Nature  has  got  the  soft  pedal  down  to-day.  Come, 
mother,  it's  a  good  day  for  a  drive.  Will  you  go  ?  " 

And  he  went  himself  to  call  the  coachman. 


11 


XIII. 

MRS.  FRAN KL AND. 

MRS.  FRANKLAXD,  the  Bible  reader,  was  a  natural 
orator — a  person  with  plenty  of  blood  for  her  brain, 
ample  breathing  space  in  her  chest,  a  rich-toned  voice 
responsive  to  her  feelings,  and  a  mind  not  exactly  intel 
lectual,  but  felicitous  in  vocabulation  and  ingenious  in 
the  construction  of  sentences.  Her  emotions  were  mettle 
some  horses  well-bitted — quick  and  powerful,  but  firmly 
held.  Though  her  exegesis  was  second-hand  and  com 
monplace,  yet  upon  the  familiar  chords  of  traditional  and 
superficial  interpretation  of  the  Bible  she  knew  how  to 
play  many  emotional  variations,  and  her  hearers,  who 
were  all  women,  were  caught  up  into  a  state  of  religious 
exaltation  under  her  instruction.  A  buoyant  and  joyous 
spirit  and  a  genial  good-fellowship  of  manner  added 
greatly  to  her  personal  charms. 

She  was  the  wife  of  a  lawyer  of  moderate  abilities  and 
great  trustworthiness,  whose  modesty,  rather  than  his 
mediocrity,  had  confined  him  to  a  small  practice  in  the 
quieter  walks  of  the  profession.  Mrs.  Frankland  had 
been  bred  a  Friend,  but  there  was  a  taste  for  magnifi 
cence  in  her  that  argued  an  tin-Quaker  strain  in  her 
pedigree.  On  her  marriage  she  had  with  alacrity  trans- 


MRS.   FHANKLAND.  163 

ferred  her  allegiance  from  no-ceremony  Quakerism  to 
liturgical  Episcopalianism,  the  religion  of  her  husband. 
She  gave  herself  credit  for  having  in  this  made  some 
sacrifice  to  wifely  duty,  though  her  husband  would  have 
been  willing  to  join  the  orthodox  Friends  with  her,  for 
the  simplicity  and  stillness  of  the  Quakers  consorted  well 
with  his  constitution.  Mrs.  Frankland  did  not  relinquish 
certain  notions  derived  from  the  Friends  concerning  the 
liberty  of  women  to  speak  when  moved  thereto.  No 
doubt  her  tenacity  in  this  particular  was  due  to  her  own 
consciousness  of  possessing  a  gift  for  swaying  human 
sympathies.  Such  a  gift  the  Anglican  communion,  from 
time  immemorial,  has  delighted  to  bury  in  a  napkin — in 
a  tablecloth,  if  a  napkin  should  prove  insufficient.  But 
Mrs.  Frankland  was  not  a  person  to  allow  her  talent  to 
be  buried  even  in  the  most  richly  diglit  altar-cloth.  In 
her,  as  in  most  of  the  world's  shining  lights,  zeal  for  a 
cause  was  indistinguishably  blended  with  personal  aspira 
tions — honest  desire  to  be  serviceable  with  an  unconscious 
desire  to  be  known.  It  is  only  healthy  and  normal  that 
any  human  being  possessed  of  native  power  should  wish 
to  show  his  credentials  by  turning  possibility  into  fact 
accomplished. 

Mrs.  Frankland's  temperament  inclined  her  to  live 
like  a  city  set  on  a  hill,  but  the  earlier  years  of  her  mar 
ried  life  had  been  too  constantly  engrossed  by  domestic 
cares  for  her  to  undertake  public  duties.  It  had  often 
been  out  of  the  question  for  the  Franklands  to  keep  a 
servant,  and  they  had  never  kept  more  than  one  in  a 
family  of  four  children.  At  first  this  ambitious  wife 


164  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

sought  to  spur  her  timid  and  precise  husband  to  achieve 
ments  that  were  quite  impossible  to  him.  But  when  the 
children  grew  larger,  so  that  the  elder  ones  could  be  of 
assistance  in  the  care  of  the  house,  Mrs.  Frankland's 
opportunity  came.  The  fame  of  such  women  as  Mrs. 
Livermore,  Miss  Willard,  and  Mrs.  Bottome  had  long 
been  a  spur  to  her  aspiration.  She  did  not  set  up  as  a 
reformer.  Denunciation  and  contention  were  not  proper 
to  her  temperament.  She  was,  above  all,  pathetic  and 
sympathetic.  She  took  charge  of  a  Bible  class  of  young 
ladies  in  the  Sunday-school,  and  these  were  soon  deeply 
moved  by  her  talks  to  them  as  a  class,  and  profoundly 
attracted  to  her  by  a  way  she  had  of  gathering  each  one 
of  them  under  the  hen-mother  wings  of  her  sympathies. 
That  she  and  they  exaggerated  the  degree  of  her  personal 
feeling  for  her  individual  listeners  is  probable ;  the  ora 
torical  temperament  enlarges  the  image  of  a  sentiment  as 
naturally  as  a  magic  lantern  magnifies  a  picture.  In  later 
days  beloved  Maggies  and  Matildas  of  the  class,  who  had 

believed  themselves  special  favorites  of  Mrs.  Frankland 

their  images  graven  on  her  heart  of  hearts— were  amazed 
to  find  that  they  had  been  quite  forgotten  when  they  had 
been  out  of  sight  a  year  or  two. 

The  Bible-class  room  in  the  Church  of  St.  James  the 
Less  soon  became  uncomfortably  crowded.  This  was 
what  Mrs.  Frankland  had  long  desired.  She  thereupon 
availed  herself  of  the  hospitality  of  a  disciple  of  hers  who 
had  a  rather  large  parlor,  and  in  this  she  opened  a  Bible 
reading  on  Friday  afternoons.  Eloquent  talk,  and  espe 
cially  pathetic  talk  and  vivid  illustrations  by  means  of 


MRS.  FRANKLAND.  165' 

incidents  and  similes,  were  as  natural  to  her  as  melodious 
whistling  is  to  a  brown  thrush,  and  the  parlors  were 
easily  filled,  though  out  of  deference  to  church  authorities 
men  were  excluded. 

The  success  of  this  first  course  of  so-called  Bible 
readings  was  marked,  and  it  determined  Mrs.  Frankland's 
career.  She  was  enough  of  a  woman  to  be  particularly 
pleased  that  some  of  the  wealthiest  parishioners  of  St. 
James  the  Less  were  among  her  hearers,  and  that,  having 
neglected  her  in  all  the  years  of  baby-tending  and  dish 
washing  obscurity,  these  people  now  invited  her  to  their 
houses  and  made  her  the  confidante  of  their  sorrows. 
This  sort  of  success  was  as  agreeable  to  her  as  merely 
social  climbing  was  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough.  For  even  in 
people  of  a  higher  type  than  Mrs.  Frankland  the  un 
mixed  heroic  is  not  to  be  looked  for  :  if  one  finds  zeal  or 
heroism  in  the  crude  ore  ib  ought  to  be  enough;  the 
refined  articles  have  hardly  been  offered  in  the  market 
since  the  lives  of  the  saints  were  written  and  the  old 
romances  went  out  of  fashion. 

Two  results  of  Mrs.  Frankland's  first  winter's  read 
ings,  or  preachings,  had  not  entered  into  her  calculations, 
bat  they  were  potent  in  deciding  her  to  continue  her 
career.  One  was  that  her  husband's  law  practice  was 
somewhat  increased  by  her  conspicuousness  and  popu 
larity.  He  was  not  intrusted  with  great  cases,  but  there 
was  a  very  decided  increase  in  his  collection  business. 
At  the  close  of  the  season  Mrs.  Frankland,  in  making 
her  farewell  to  her  class,  had,  like  a  true  orator,  coined 
even  her  private  life  into  effect.  She  touched  feelingly 


166  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

on  the  sacrifice  she  and  her  family  had  had  to  make  in 
order  that  she  might  maintain  the  readings,  and  alluded 
to  her  confidence  that  if  Providence  intended  her  to  go 
forward,  provision  would  be  made  for  her  and  her  chil 
dren,  whom  she  solemnly  committed  by  an  act  of  faith, 
like  that  of  the  mother  of  Moses,  to  the  care  of  the 
Almighty.  She  said  this  with  deep  solemnity,  holding 
up  her  hands  toward  heaven  as  though  to  lay  an  infant 
in  the  arms  of  the  Good  Shepherd.  The  vision  of  a 
house-mother  trusting  the  Lord  even  for  the  darning  of 
stockings  was  an  example  of  faith  that  touched  the  hear 
ers.  Under  the  lead  of  a  few  active  women  in  the  com 
pany  a  purse  of  two  hundred  dollars  was  collected  and 
presented  to  her.  It  was  done  delicately;  the  givers 
stated  that  their  purpose  was  simply  to  enable  her  to 
relieve  herself  of  care  that  the  good  work  might  not 
suffer.  The  money  was  thus  handed  not  to  her  but  to 
the  Lord,  and  Mrs.  Frankland  could  not  refuse  it.  Do 
you  blame  her  ?  She  had  earned  it  as  fairly  as  the  rector 
of  St.  James  the  Less  earned  his.  Perhaps  even  more 
fairly,  for  her  service  was  spontaneous  and  enthusiastic ; 
he  had  grown  old  and  weary,  and  his  service  had  long 
since  come  to  be  mainly  perfunctory. 

There  are  cynics  who  imagine  a  woman  with  a  mis 
sion  saying,  "  Well,  I've  increased  my  husband's  business, 
and  I  have  made  two  hundred  very  necessary  dollars  this 
winter ;  and  I  will  try  it  again."  If  the  matter  had  pre 
sented  itself  to  her  mind  in  that  way  Mrs.  Frankland 
probably  would  have  felt  a  repulsion  from  the  work  she 
was  doing.  It  is  a  very  bungling  mind,  or  a  more  than 


MRS.   FRANKLAND.  167 

usually  clear  and  candid  mind,  that  would  view  a  delicate 
personal  concern  in  so  blunt  a  fashion.  Mrs.  Frankland's 
mind  was  too  clever  to  be  bungling,  and  too  emotional 
and  imaginative  to  be  critical.  What  she  saw,  with  a 
rush  of  grateful  emotion,  was  that  the  Divine  approval  of 
her  sacrifices  was  manifested  by  this  sustaining  increase 
of  temporal  prosperity.  The  ravens  of  Elijah  had  re 
plenished  her  purse  because  she  trusted.  Thus  com 
mended  from  above  and  lifted  into  the  circle  of  those 
who  like  the  prophets  and  apostles  have  a  special  voca 
tion,  she  felt  herself  ready,  as  she  put  it,  "  to  go  forward 
through  fire  and  flood  if  need  be."  It  would  not  have 
been  like  her  to  remember  that  the  fire  and  flood  to  be 
encountered  in  her  career  could  be  only  rhetorical  at  best 
— painted  fire  and  a  stage  flood. 

Among  those  who  chanced  to  be  drawn  to  Mrs.  Frank- 
land's  first  course  of  Bible  readings,  and  who  had  listened 
with  zest,  was  Phillida  Callender.  Phillida's  was  a  tem 
perament  different  from  Mrs  Frankland's.  The  common 
point  at  which  they  touched  was  religious  enthusiasm. 
Mrs.  Frankland's  enthusiasms  translated  themselves  in 
stantly  into  eloquent  expression  ;  she  was  an  instrument 
richly  toned  that  gave  forth  melody  of  joy  or  sorrow 
when  smitten  by  emotion,  Phillida  was  very  susceptible 
to  her  congenial  eloquence,  but  hers  was  essentially  the 
higher  nature,  and  Mrs.  Frankland's  religious  passion, 
when  once  it  reached  Phillida,  was  transformed  into 
practical  endeavor.  Mrs.  Frankland  was  quite  content 
to  embody  her  ideals  in  felicitous  speech,  and  cease ; 
Phillida  Callender  labored  day  and  night  to  make  her 


168  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

ideals  actual.  Mrs.  Frankland  had  no  inclination  or 
qualification  for  grappling  with  such  thorny  problems  as 
the  Mackerel ville  Mission  afforded.  It  was  enough  for 
her  to  play  the  martial  music  which  nerved  others  for 
the  strife. 

It  often  happens  that  the  superior  nature  is  domi 
nated  by  one  not  its  equal.  Phillida  did  not  question  the 
superlative  excellence  of  Mrs.  Frankland,  from  whom  she 
drew  so  many  inspirations.  That  eloquent  lady  in  turn 
admired  and  loved  Phillida  as  a  model  disciple.  Phillida 
drew  Mrs.  Hilbrough  to  the  readings,  and  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  bestowed  on  that  lady  all  the  affectionate  attention 
her  immortal  soul  and  worldly  position  entitled  her  to, 
and  under  Mrs.  Frankland's  influence  Mrs.  Hilbrough 
became  more  religious  without  becoming  less  worldly. 
For  nothing  could  have  seemed  more  proper  and  laudable 
to  Mrs.  Hilbrough  than  the  steady  pursuit  of  great  con 
nections  appropriate  to  her  husband's  wealth. 

Mrs.  Frankland's  imagination  had  been  moved  by  her 
success.  It  was  not  only  a  religious  but  a  social  triumph. 
Some  of  the  rich  had  come,  and  it  was  in  the  nature  of 
an  orator  of  Mrs.  Frankland's  type  to  love  any  associa 
tion  with  magnificence.  Her  figures  of  speech  were  richly 
draped ;  her  imagination  delighted  in  the  grandiose.  The 
same  impulse  which  carried  her  easily  from  drab  Quaker 
ism  to  stained-glass  Episcopalianism  now  moved  her  to 
desire  that  her  ministry  might  lead  her  to  the  great,  for 
such  an  association  seemed  to  glorify  the  cause  she  had 
at  heart.  She  did  not  think  of  her  purpose  nakedly; 
she  was  an  artist  in  drapery,  and  her  ideas  never  pre- 


MRS.  FRANKLAND.  169 

sented  themselves  in  the  nude ;  she  was  indeed  quite 
incapable  of  seeing  the  bare  truth;  truth  itself  became 
visible  to  her  only  when  it  had  on  a  wedding  garment. 
As  she  stated  her  aspiration  to  herself,  she  longed  to 
carry  the  everlasting  gospel  to  the  weary  rich.  "  The 
weary  rich  "  was  the  phrase  she  outfitted  them  with  when 
considered  as  objects  of  pity  and  missionary  zeal.  To 
her  mind  they  seemed,  in  advance,  shining  trophies  which 
she  hoped  to  win,  and  in  her  reveries  she  saw  herself  pre 
senting  them  before  the  Almighty,  somewhat  as  a  Roman 
general  might  lead  captive  barbarian  princes  to  the  throne 
of  his  imperial  master. 

Mrs.  Frankland  could  not  be  oblivious  to  the  fact  that 
a  Bible  reading  among  the  rich  would  be  likely  to  bring 
her  better  pecuniary  returns  than  one  among  the  poor. 
But  she  did  not  let  this  consideration  appear  on  the  sur 
face  of  her  thoughts,  nor  was  it  at  all  a  primary  or  essen 
tial  one. 

She  knew  but  little  of  the  intricacies  of  social  com 
plications,  and  her  mind  now  turned  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough 
as  the  wealthiest  of  all  her  occasional  hearers,  and  one 
having  an  ample  parlor  in  a  fashionable  quarter  of  the 
town. 

Her  first  thought  had  been  to  get  Phillida  to  accom 
pany  her  when  she  should  go  to  suggest  the  matter  to 
Mrs.  Hilbrough.  But  on  second  thought  she  gave  up 
this  intermediation,  for  reasons  which  it  would  have  been 
impossible  for  her  to  define.  If  she  exerted  a  powerful 
influence  over  Phillida  in  the  direction  of  emotion,  she 
could  not  escape  in  turn  the  influence  of  Phillida's  view 


170  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

of  life  when  in  her  presence.  Although  personal  ambi 
tions  mixed  themselves  to  a  certain  extent  with  Mrs. 
Frankland's  religious  zeal,  disguising  themselves  in  rhe- 
torical  costumes  of  a  semi-ecclesiastical  sort,  they  did  not 
venture  to  masquerade  too  freely  before  Phillida.  Mrs. 
Frankland,  though  less  skillful  in  affairs  than  in  speech, 
felt  that  it  would  be  better  in  the  present  instance  to  go 
to  Mrs.  Hilbrough  alone. 

It  was  with  a  glow  of  pleasure  not  wholly  unworldly 
that  she  found  herself  one  afternoon  in  Mrs.  Hilbrough's 
reception-room,  and  noted  all  about  her  marks  of  taste 
and  unstinted  expenditure.  To  a  critical  spectator  the 
encounter  between  the  two  ladies  would  have  afforded 
material  for  a  curious  comparison.  The  ample  figure  of 
Mrs.  Frankland,  her  mellifluous  voice,  her  large,  sweep 
ing,  cheerily  affectionate,  influential  mode  of  address, 
brought  her  into  striking  contrast  with  the  rather  slen 
der,  quietly  self-reliant  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  whose  genial 
cordiality  covered,  while  it  hardly  concealed,  the  thor 
oughly  business-like  carriage  of  her  mind. 

Mrs  Frankland  opened  her  plan  with  the  greatest 
fullness  of  explanation  as  to  what  her  motives  were,  but 
she  did  not  feel  obliged  wholly  to  conceal  the  element  of 
personal  aspiration,  as  she  would  have  done  in  talking  to 
Phillida.  Her  intuitions  made  her  feel  that  Mrs.  Hil 
brough  would  accept  religious  zeal  all  the  more  readily 
for  its  being  a  little  diluted.  Mrs.  Hilbrough  responded 
with  genial  cordiality  and  even  with  some  show  of  en 
thusiasm.  But  if  she  had  less  address  in  speech  than  the 
other  she  had  more  in  affairs.  While  theoretically  sup- 


MRS.   FRANKLAND.  171 

porting  this  plan  she  did  not  commit  herself  to  it.  She 
knew  how  slender  as  yet  was  her  hold  upon  the  society 
she  courted,  and  she  would  not  risk  an  eccentric  move. 
Her  boat  was  still  in  shallow  water,  with  hardly  buoyancy 
enough  to  float  a  solitary  occupant ;  if  she  should  under 
take  to  carry  Mrs.  Frankland,  it  would  probably  go  fast 
aground.  What  she  said  to  Mrs.  Frankland  with  super 
ficial  fervor  was : 

"  You  ought  to  have  a  person  that  has  been  longer  in 
New  York,  and  is  better  acquainted  than  I  am,  to  carry 
out  your  plan,  Mrs.  Frankland.  It  would  be  a  pity  to 
have  so  excellent  a  scheme  fail ;  that  would  probably 
prevent  your  ever  succeeding — would  shut  you  out  as 
long  as  you  lived.  It  would  be  a  great  honor  to  me  to 
have  your  readings,  but  you  must  begin  under  better 
auspices.  I  regret  to  say  this.  Your  readings,  rightly 
started,  will  be  a  great  success,  and  I  should  like  to  have 
them  here." 

This  last  was  in  a  sense  sincere.  Mrs.  Hilbrough  was 
sure  of  Mrs.  Frankland's  success  if  once  the  thing  were 
patronized  by  the  right  people.  Here  Mrs.  Frankland 
looked  disappointed,  but  in  a  moment  broke  forth  again 
in  adroit  and  fervid  statement  of  the  good  that  might  be 
done,  mingled  with  a  flattering  protest  against  Mrs.  Hil- 
brough's  too  humble  estimate  of  her  influence  in  society. 
While  she  proceeded,  Mrs.  Hilbrough  was  revolving  a 
plan  for  giving  Mrs.  Frankland  more  than  she  asked, 
while  avoiding  personal  responsibility. 

"  I  think  I  can  do  something,"  she  said,  with  a  man 
ner  less  cordial  but  more  sincere  than  that  she  had  pre- 


172  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

viously  assumed.  "Leave  the  matter  with  me,  and  I 
may  be  able  to  open  to  yon  a  grand  house,  not  a  plain, 
middling  place  like  mine" — and  she  waved  her  hand 
deprecatingly  toward  the  furnishings  which  seemed  to 
Mrs.  Fraiikland  inconceivably  rich — "  a  grand  house  with 
all  the  prestige  of  a  great  family.  I  don't  know  that  I 
shall  succeed  with  my  friend,  but  for  the  sake  of  the 
cause  I  am  willing  to  try.  I  won't  tell  you  anything 
about  it  till  I  try.  If  I  fail,  I  fail,  but  for  the  present 
leave  all  to  me." 

Mrs.  Frankland  was  not  the  sort  of  person  to  relish 
being  guided  by  another,  but  in  Mrs.  Hilbrough  she  had 
met  her  superior  in  leadership.  Reluctantly  she  felt  her 
self  obliged  to  hand  over  the  helm  of  her  own  craft, 
holding  herself  ready  to  disembark  at  length  wherever 
Mrs.  Hilbrough  might  reach  dry  ground. 

Of  all  that  Mrs.  Hilbrough  had  won  in  her  first  win 
ter's  social  campaign,  the  achievement  that  gave  her 
most  pleasure  was  the  making  acquaintance  and  en 
tering  into  fast  ripening  friendship  with  Mrs.  Van 
Home.  Little  Mrs.  Van  Home  was  not  in  herself  very 
desirable  as  a  friend,  but  she  was  one  of  those  whose 
fortune  it  is  to  have  the  toil  of  thousands  at  their  dis 
posal.  Her  magnificence  was  fed  by  an  army :  innumer 
able  laborers  with  spades  and  shovels,  picks  and  blasting- 
drills,  working  in  smoke  and  dripping  darkness  to  bore 
railway  paths  through  mountain  chains ;  grimy  stokers 
and  clear-sighted  engineers ;  brakemen  dripping  in  the 
chilly  rain  ;  switchmen  watching  out  the  weary  night  by 
dim  lanterns  or  flickering  torches ;  desk- worn  clerks  and 


MRS.  FRANKLAND.  173 

methodical  ticket-sellers ;  civil  engineers  using  brains  and 
long  training  over  their  profiles  and  cross-sectionings ; 
and  scores  of  able  "  captains  of  industry,"  such  as  super 
intendents,  passenger  agents,  and  traffic  managers — all 
these,  and  others,  by  their  steady  toil  kept  an  unfailing 
cataract  of  wealth  pouring  into  the  Van  Home  coffers. 
In  herself  Mrs.  Van  Home  had  not  half  the  force  of  Mrs. 
Hilbrough,  but  as  the  queen  bee  of  this  widespread  toil 
and  traffic,  fed  and  clad  and  decked  as  she  was  by  the 
fruits  of  the  labor  of  a  hundred  thousand  men,  Mrs.  Van 
Home  had  an  enormous  factitious  value  in  the  world. 
How  to  bear  her  dignity  as  the  wife  of  a  man  who  used 
the  million  as  a  unit  she  did  not  know,  for  though  she 
affected  a  reserved  stateliness  of  manner,  it  did  not  set 
well  on  such  a  round-faced,  impressionable  little  woman 
quite  incapable  of  charting  a  course  for  herself.  No 
show  of  leadership  had  been  hers,  but  she  had  taken  her 
cue  from  this  and  that  stronger  nature,  until  by  chance 
'she  came  in  hailing  distance  of  Mrs.  Hilbrough.  The 
two  were  perfect  counterparts.  Mrs.  Hilbrough  was 
clairvoyant  and  of  prompt  decision,  but  she  lacked  the 
commanding  position  for  personal  leadership.  She  was 
superficially  deferential  to  Mrs.  Van  Home's  older  stand 
ing  and  vastly  greater  wealth,  but  she  swiftly  gained  the 
real  ascendancy.  Her  apparent  submission  of  everything 
to  Mrs.  Van  Home's  wisdom,  while  adroitly  making  up 
a  judgment  for  the  undecided  little  ladv,  was  just  what 
Mrs.  Van  Home  liked,  and  in  three  months'  acquaintance 
that  lady  had  come  to  lean  more  and  more  on  Mrs.  Hil 
brough.  The  intimacy  with  so  close  a  friend  rendered 


174:  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

life  much  more  comfortable  for  Mrs.  Van  Home,  in  that 
it  relieved  her  from  taking  advice  of  her  sisters-in-law, 
who  always  gave  counsel  with  a  consciousness  of  superi 
ority.  Now  she  could  appear  in  her  family  with  opinions 
and  purposes  apparently  home-made.  To  a  woman  of 
Mrs.  Hilbrough's  cleverness  the  friendship  with  one 
whose  brooks  ran  gold  rendered  social  success  certain. 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  was  a  natural  promoter.  Her  energy 
inclined  her  to  take  hold  of  a  new  enterprise  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  pushing  it.  She  felt  a  real  delight  in  the 
religious  passions  awakened  by  Mrs.  Frankland's  ad 
dresses  ;  she  foresaw  an  interesting  career  opening  up  be 
fore  that  gifted  woman,  and  to  help  her  would  give  Mrs. 
Hilbrough  a  complex  pleasure.  That  Mrs.  Frankland's 
addresses  if  given  in  Mrs.  Van  Home's  parlors  would 
excite  attention  and  make  a  great  stir  she  foresaw,  and 
for  many  reasons  she  would  like  to  bring. this  about. 
Mrs.  Hilbrough  did  not  analyze  her  motives ;  that  would 
have  been  tiresome.  She  entered  them  all  up  in  a  sort 
of  lump  sum  to  the  credit  of  her  religious  zeal,  and  was 
just  a  little  pleased  to  find  so  much  of  her  early  devotion 
to  religion  left  over.  Let  the  entry  stand  as  she  made  it. 
Let  us  not  be  of  the  class  unbearable  who  are  ever  trying 
to  dissipate  those  lovely  illusions  that  keep  alive  human 
complacency  and  make  life  endurable. 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  contrived  to  bring  Mrs.  Frankland 
with  her  abounding  enthusiasm  and  her  wide-sweeping 
curves  of  inflection  and  gesture  into  acquaintance  with 
the  great  but  rather  pulpy  Mrs.  Van  Home.  The  natural 
inequality  of  forces  in  the  two  did  the  rest.  Mrs.  Van 


MRS.   FRANKLAND.  175 

Home,  weary  of  the  inevitable  limitations  of  abnormal 
wealth,  and  fatigued  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  procure  any 
satisfaction  which  bore  the  slightest  proportion  to  the 
vast  family  accretion,  found  a  repose  she  had  longed  for 
when  she  was  caught  up  in  the  fiery  chariot  of  Mrs. 
Frankland's  eloquent  talk.  All  the  vast  mass  of  things 
that  had  confronted  and  bullied  her  so  long  was  swept 
into  a  rhetorical  dustpan,  and  she  could  feel  herself  at 
length  as  a  human  soul  without  having  to  remember  her 
possessions.  Mrs.  Frankland's  phrase  of  "the  weary 
rich"  exactly  fitted  her,  and  to  her  Mrs.  Frankland's 
eloquent  pulverizing  of  the  glory  of  this  world  brought  a 
sort  of  emancipation. 

Mrs.  Frankland  unfolded  to  her  a  desire  to  reach 
those  who  would  not  attend  her  readings  at  any  but  a 
very  fashionable  house.  Mrs.  Van  Home,  encouraged 
thereto  by  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  was  delighted  at  finding  a 
novel  and  congenial  use  for  some  of  the  luxurious  and 
pompous  upholstery  of  her  life  of  which  she  was  so  tired. 
Her  parlors  were  opened,  and  "  persons  of  the  highest 
fashion  "  were  pleased  to  find  a  private  and  suitably  dec 
orated  wicker-gate  leading  into  a  strait  and  narrow  vesti 
bule  train,  limited,  fitted  up  with  all  the  consolations  and 
relieved  of  most  of  the  discomforts  of  an  old-fashioned 
religious  pilgrimage. 


XIV. 
MRS.  FRANKLAND  AND  PIIILLIDA. 

MRS.  CALLE^DER  would  have  told  you  that  mountain 

* 

air  had  quite  restored  her,  but  enforced  rest  from  scissors 
and  sewing-machine,  the  two  demons  that  beset  the  dear 
industrious,  had  more  to  do  with  it  than  mountain  air. 
The  first  of  October  brought  her  and  Phillida  again  to 
their  house,  where  Agatha  had  preceded  them  by  two 
days,  to  help  Sarah  in  putting  things  to  rights  for  their 
advent.  Millard  met  the  mother  and  daughter  at  the  sta 
tion  with  a  carriage  and  left  them  at  their  own  door. 

"  Did  Mr.  Millard  say  that  he  would  come  again  this 
evening  ?  "  Agatha  asked  of  Phillida  when  she  rose  from 
the  dinner-table. 

"  No." 

"  Well,  I  should  think  he  would.  I  wouldn't  have  a 
young  man  that  would  take  things  so  coolly.  He's  hard 
ly  seen  you  at  all  since  his  return,  and — that's  the  ex 
pressman  with  the  trunks.  I'll  go  and  see 'about  them"; 
and  she  bounded  away,  not  "  like  an  antelope,"  but  like  a 
young  girl  bubbling  to  the  brim  with  youth  and  animal 
spirits. 

An  hour  later,  when  Phillida  and  Agatha  had  just  got 
to  a  stage  in  unpacking  in  which  all  that  one  owns  is 


MRS.  FRANKLAND  AND  PHILLIDA.  177 

lying  in  twenty  heaps  about  the  room,  each  several  heap 
seeming  larger  than  the  trunk  in  which  it  came,  there 
was  a  ring  at  the  door,  and  Mr.  Millard  was  announced. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  I  think  he  might  have  waited  until  to 
morrow,"  grumbled  Agatha  to  her  mother,  after  Phillida 
had  gone  to  the  parlor.  "  He'll  stay  for  hours,  I  suppose, 
and  I  never  can  get  these  things  put  away  alone,  and  we 
won't  get  you  to  bed  before  midnight.  He  ought  to  re 
member  that  you're  not  strong.  But  it's  just  like  a  man 
in  love  to  come  when  you're  in  a  mess,  and  never  to  go 
away." 

Millard  was  more  thoughtful  than  another  might  have 
been,  and  in  half  an  hour  Phillida  returned  to  the  back 
room,  with  a  softly  radiant  expression  of  countenance, 
bearing  a  bouquet  of  flowers  which  Millard  had  brought 
for  Mrs.  Callender.  Phillida  at  once  helped  Agatha  at 
tack  chaos.  The  floor,  the  chairs,  the  table,  the  bed,  and 
the  top  of  the  dressing-case  were  at  length  cleared,  and 
preparations  were  making  for  getting  the  tired  mother  to 
her  rest  before  ten  o'clock. 

"  Seems  to  me,"  said  Agatha,  "  that  if  I  were  in 
Philly's  place  I'd  want  something  more  than  a  brief  call 
on  the  first  evening,  after  so  long  a  separation." 

"  Seems  to  me,"  said  the  mother,  mimicking  Agatha's 
tone  and  turning  upon  the  girl  with  an  amused  smile, 
"  if  you  ever  have  a  lover  and  are  as  hard  to  please  with 
him  as  you  are  with  Mr.  Millard,  he  might  as  well  give  it 
up  before  he  begins." 

In  the  morning  early  came  Mrs.   Frankland.     She 

kissed  Phillida  on  this  cheek  and  on  that,  embraced  her 
12 


178  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

and  called  her  "  Dear,  dear  child,"  held  her  off  with  both 
hands  and  looked  with  admiration  at  her  well-modeled 
face,  freshened  with  wind  and  sun.  She  declared  that 
the  mountain  air  had  done  Phillida  a  great  deal  of  good, 
and  inquired  how  her  dear,  good  mother  was. 

"  Mother  is  wonderfully  better,"  said  Phillida ;  "  I 
may  say,  well  again." 

"  What  a  mercy  that  is  !  Now  you'll  be  able  to  go  on 
with  the  blessed  work  you  are  doing.  You  have  a  gift 
for  mission  work  ;  that's  your  vocation.  I  should  make  a 
poor  one  in  your  place.  It's  a  talent.  As  for  me,  I  have 
a  new  call." 

"  A  new  call — what  is  that  ?  "  said  Phillida,  rolling  up 
an  easy  chair  for  Mrs.  Frankland  to  sit  on. 

"  It's  all  through  you,  I  suppose.  You  brought  Mrs. 
Hilbrough  to  hear  me,  and  Mrs.  Hilbrough  made  me  ac 
quainted  with  Mrs.  Van  Home,  and  she  has  invited  me 
to  give  readings  in  her  parlor.  I  gave  the  first  last  Thurs 
day,  with  great  success.  The  great  parlor  was  full,  and 
many  wept  like  little  children." 

The  words  here  written  are  poor  beside  what  Mrs. 
Frankland  said.  Her  inflection,  the  outward  sweep  of 
her  hand  when  she  said  "  great  parlor,"  brought  the  rich 
scene  vaguely  to  Phillida's  imagination,  and  the  mellow 
falling  cadence  with  which  she  spoke  of  those  who  had 
wept  like  little  children,  letting  her  hands  drop  limp  the 
while  upon  her  lap,  made  it  all  very  picturesque  and 
touching.  But  Phillida  twisted  the  fingers  of  her  left 
hand  with  her  right,  feeling  a  little  wrench  in  trying  to 
put  herself  into  sympathy  with  this  movement.  It  was 


MRS.  FRANKLAND  AND   PHILLIDA.  179 

the  philanthropic  side  of  religion  rather  than  the  propa 
gandist  that  appealed  to  her,  and  she  could  hardly  feel 
pity  for  people  whose  most  imaginary  wants  were  sup 
plied. 

The  quick  instinct  for  detecting  and  following  the 
sympathy  of  an  audience  is  half  the  outfit  for  an  orator ; 
and  Mrs.  Frankland  felt  the  need  of  additional  statement 
to  carry  the  matter  rightly  to  Phillida.  She  was  ever 
feeling  about  for  the  electrical  button  that  would  reach 
a  hearer's  sympathies,  and  never  content  until  she  had 
touched  it. 

"  I  find  the  burdens  of  these  wealthy  women  are  as 
great — even  greater  than  those  of  others.  Many  of  them 
are  tired  of  the  worldliness,  and  weary  of  the  utter  frivolity, 
of  their  pursuits."  She  put  a  long,  rich,  vibrant  empha 
sis  on  the  words  "  utter  frivolity."  "  Don't  you  think  it 
a  good  plan  to  bring  them  to  the  rest  of  the  gospel  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Phillida,  who  could  not  logically 
gainsay  such  a  statement ;  but  she  was  convinced  rather 
than  touched  by  any  living  sympathy  with  Mrs.  Frank- 
land's  impulse,  and  she  still  twisted  the  tips  of  the  fingers 
of  her  left  hand  with  her  right. 

"  I  hope,  dear  child,"  Mrs.  Frankland  went  on,  in  a 
meditative  tone,  looking  out  of  the  window  and  steering 
now  upon  a  home  tack — "  I  hope  that  I  can  serve  in 
some  way  the  cause  of  the  poor  you  have  so  much  at 
heart,  Missions  like  yours  languish  for  funds.  If  I  could 
be  the  means  of  bringing  people  of  great  fortune  to  con 
secrate  their  wealth,  it  might  fill  many  a  thirsty  channel 
of  benevolence  with  refreshing  streams."  Ah,  that  one 


180  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

could  produce  here  the  tone  of  her  voice  as  of  a  brook 
brimming  over  barriers,  and  running  melodious  to  the 
meadows  below ! 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Phillida,  remembering  how  many 
betterments  might  be  made  in  the  coffee-room  and  the 
reading-room  if  only  one  had  the  money,  and  remember 
ing  how  her  own  beloved  Charley  had  helped  the  Mission 
and  made  the  lot  of  the  unhappy  Wilhelmina  Schulen- 
berg  less  grievous.  "  I  do  think  it  may  prove  to  be  a 
great  work,"  she  added  thoughtfully,  folding  her  hands 
upon  her  lap  in  unconscious  sign  that  she  had  reached  a 
conclusion — a  logical  equilibrium. 

.  "  And  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  to  the  readings  on 
Thursday.  Mrs.  Van  Home  knows  your  aunt,  Mrs. 
Gouverneur,  and  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

Phillida  looked  down  and  began  to  pinch  the  tips  of 
her  fingers  again.  She  shrunk  a  little  from  Mrs.  Van 
Home's  set ;  she  thought  her  dress  probably  beneath 
their  standard,  but  with  an  effort  she  put  away  such  fears 
as  frivolous,  and  promised  to  go. 

Thursday  afternoon  found  Phillida  sitting  by  Mrs. 
Hilbrougli  in  the  Van  Home  parlor,  which  was  draped 
with  the  costly  products  of  distant  looms,  wrought  by  the 
dusky  fingers  of  Orientals  inheriting  the  slowly  perfected 
special  skill  of  generations,  and  with  the  fabrics  produced 
by  mediaeval  workmen  whose  artistic  products  had  gathered 
value  as  all  their  fellows  had  perished ;  for  other  races  and 
other  ages  have  contributed  their  toil  to  the  magnificence 
of  a  New  York  palace.  The  great  room  was  spanned  by 
a  ceiling  on  which  the  creative  imaginations  of  great  art- 


MRS.   FRANKLAND  AND   PHILLIDA.  181 

ists  had  lavished  rare  fancies  in  gold  and  ivory,  while  the 
costliest,  if  not  the  noblest,  paintings  and  sculptures  of 
our  modern  time  were  all  about  a  parlor  whose  very  chairs 
and  ottomans  had  been  designed  by  men  of  genius. 

Once  the  words  of  Mrs.  Frankland  were  heard  with 
these  surroundings,  one  felt  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  at 
tribute  to  ambitious  motives  her  desire  for  such  an  en 
vironment.  She  might  rather  be  said  to  have  been  drawn 
here  by  an  inspiration  for  artistic  harmony.  The  reso 
nant  periods  of  Bossuet  would  hardly  have  echoed  through 
the  modern  centuries  if  he  had  not  had  the  magnificent 
court  of  Louis  the  Great  for  a  sounding-board.  When  Mrs. 
Frankland  spoke  in  the  Van  Home  parlor  her  auditors 
felt  that  the  mellifluous  voice  and  stately  sentences  could 
not  have  had  a  more  appropriate  setting,  and  that  the 
splendid  apartment  could  not  have  been  put  to  a  more  fit 
ting  use.  Even  the  simple  religious  songs  used  at  the 
beginning  and  close  of  the  meetings  were  accompanied 
upon  a  grand  piano  of  finest  tone,  whose  richly  inlaid  case 
represented  the  expenditure  of  a  moderate  fortune.  Mrs. 
Van  Home  could  command  the  best  amateur  musical 
talent,  so  that  the  little  emotional  Moody-and-Sankeys 
that  Mrs.  Frankland  selected  were  so  overlaid  and  glori 
fied  in  the  performance  as  to  be  almost  transformed  into 
works  of  art. 

Phillida  looked  upon  these  evidences  of  lavish  expendi 
ture  with  less  bedazzlement  than  one  might  have  expected 
in  a  person  of  her  age.  For  she  had  grown  up  under 
shelter  from  the  world.  While  she  remained  in  the 
antipodes  her  contact  with  life  outside  her  own  family 


182  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

had  been  small.  In  Brooklyn  her  mother's  ill  health  had 
kept  her  much  at  home,  and  the  dominant  influence  of 
her  father  had  therefore  every  chance  to  make  itself  felt 
upon  her  character,  and  that  influence  was  all  in  favor  of 
a  self-denying  philanthropy.  To  the  last  her  father  was 
altruistic,  finding  nothing  worth  living  for  but  the  doing 
for  others.  Abiding  secluded  as  Phillida  had,  the  father's 
stamp  remained  uneffaced.  She  saw  in  all  this  magnifi 
cence  a  wanton  waste  of  resources.  She  put  it  side  by 
side  with  her  sense  of  a  thousand  needs  of  others,  and 
she  felt  for  it  more  condemnation  than  admiration.  Mrs. 
Frankland's  vocation  to  the  rich  was  justified  in  her 
mind ;  it  was,  after  all,  a  sort  of  mission  to  the  heathen. 

And  who  shall  say  that  Mrs.  Frankland's  missionary 
impulse  was  not  a  true  one  ?  Phillida's  people  were  ex 
teriorly  more  miserable ;  but  who  knows  whether  the 
woes  of  a  Mulberry  street  tenement  are  greater  than  those 
of  a  Fifth  Avenue  palace?  Certainly  Mrs.  Frankland 
found  wounded  hearts  enough.  The  woman  with  an 
unfaithful  husband,  the  mother  of  a  reckless  son  who  has 
been  obliged  to  flee  the  country,  the  wife  of  a  runaway 
cashier,  disgraced  and  dependent  upon  rich  relatives — 
these  and  a  score  besides  poured  into  her  ear  their  sor 
rows,  and  were  comforted  by  her  sympathy  cordially  ex 
pressed,  and  by  her  confidence  in  a  consoling  divine  love 
and  her  visions  of  a  future  of  everlasting  rest.  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  had  found  her  proper  field — a  true  mission  field 
indeed,  for  in  this  world-out-of-joint  there  is  little  danger 
of  going  astray  in  looking  for  misery  of  one  sort  or 
another.  If  the  sorrows  of  the  poor  are  greater,  they 


MRS.   FRANKLAXD   AND   PHILLIDA.  183 

have,  if  not  consolation,  at  least  a  fortunate  numbness 
produced  by  the  never-ending  battle  for  bread ;  but  the 
canker  has  time  to  gnaw  the  very  heart  out  of  the  rich 
woman. 

Even  on  the  mind  of  Phillida,  as  she  now  listened  to 
Mrs.  Frankland,  the  accessories  made  a  difference.  How 
many  dogmas  have  lived  for  centuries,  not  by  their  rea 
sonableness  but  by  the  impressiveness  of  trappings ! 
Liturgies  chanted  under  lofty  arches,  creeds  recited  by 
generation  following  generation,  traditions  of  law,  how 
ever  absurd,  uttered  by  one  big-wigged  judge  following  a 
reverend  line  of  ghostly  big- wigs  gone  before  that  have 
said  the  same  foolish  things  for  ages — these  all  take 
considerable  advantage  from  the  power  of  accessories  to 
impose  upon  the  human  imagination.  The  divinity  that 
hedges  kings  is  the  result  of  a  set  of  stage-fixings  which 
make  the  little  great,  and  half  the  horror  inspired  by  the 
priest's  curse  is  derived  from  bell  and  book  and  candle. 
The  myste-y  of  print  gives  weight  to  small  men  by  the 
same  witchcraft ;  you  would  not  take  the  personal  advice 
of  so  stupid  a  man  as  Criticus  about  the  crossing  of  a  £, 
but  when  he  prints  a  tirade  anonymously  in  the  Philadel 
phia  "  Tempus  "  the  condemnation  becomes  serious. 

Just  in  this  way  the  imagination  of  Phillida  was 
affected  by  the  new  surroundings  in  the  midst  of  which 
Mrs.  Frankland  spoke.  The  old  addresses  in  a  Bible-class 
room  with  four  plastered  walls,  or  a  modest  parlor,  did 
not  seem  to  have  half  so  much  force  as  these.  The  weight 
of  a  brilliant  success  was  now  thrown  into  the  scale,  and 
Mrs.  Frankland  could  speak  with  an  apostolic  authority 


184  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

hitherto  unknown.  The  speaker's  own  imagination  felt 
the  influence  of  her  new-found  altitude,  and  she  ex 
pressed  herself  with  assurance  and  deliberation,  and  with 
more  dignity  and  pathos  than  ever  before. 

With  all  this  background,  Mrs.  Frankland  spoke  to 
day  from  the   twelfth  chapter  of  Romans   on   personal 
consecration.     But  she  did  not  treat  the  theme  as  a  per 
son  of  reformatory  temperament   might   have   done,  by 
denouncing  the  frivolity  of  rich  and   fashionable   lives. 
It  was  not  in  her  nature  to  antagonize  an  audience.     She 
drew  a  charming  picture  of  the  beauty  of  a  consecrated 
life,  and  she  embellished  it  with  wonderful  instances  of 
devotion,  interspersed  with  touching  anecdotes  of  hero 
ism  and  self-sacrifice.    The  impression  upon  her  audience 
was   as   remarkable   as   it   was   certain   to   be   transient. 
Women  wept  at  the  ravishing  vision  of  a  life  wholly 
given  to  noble  ends,  and    then  went  their  ways  to  live 
as  before,  after  the  predispositions  of  their  natures,  the 
habits  of  their  lives,  and  the  conventional  standards  of 
their  class. 

But  in  the  heart  of  Phillida  the  words  of  the  speaker 
fell  upon  fertile  soil,  and  germinated,  where  there  was 
never  a  stone  or  a  thorn.  The  insularity  of  her  life  had 
left  her  very  susceptible  to  Mrs.  Frankland's  discourses. 
Old  stagers  who  have  been  impressed  now  by  this,  now 
by  that,  speech,  writing,  or  personal  persuasion,  have 
suffered  a  certain  wholesome  induration.  Phillida  was  a 
virginal  enthusiast. 


XV. 

TWO  WAYS. 

IT  seemed  to  Millard  that  Phillida  would  be  the 
better  for  seeing  more  of  life.  He  would  not  have  ad 
mitted  to  himself  that  he  could  wish  her  any  whit  differ 
ent  from  what  she  was.  But  he  was  nevertheless  dis 
posed  to  mold  her  tastes  into  some  likeness  to  his  own- 
it  is  the  impulse  of  all  advanced  lovers  and  new  husbands. 
It  was  unlucky  that  he  should  have  chosen  for  the  time 
of  beginning  his  experiment  the  very  evening  of  the  day 
on  which  she  had  heard  Mrs.  Frankland.  Phillida's 
mind  was  all  aglow  with  the  feelings  excited  by  the  ad 
dress  when  Millard  called  with  the  intention  of  inviting 
her  to  attend  the  theater  with  him. 

He  found  a  far-awayness  in  her  mood  which  made 
him  keep  back  his  proposal  for  a  while.  He  did  not 
admire  her  the  less  in  her  periods  of  exaltation,  but  he 
felt  less  secure  of  her  when  she  soared  into  a  region 
whither  he  could  not  follow.  He  hesitated,  and  discussed 
the  weather  of  the  whole  week  past,  smiting  his  knee 
gently  with  his  gloves  in  the  endeavor  to  obtain  cheerful 
ness  by  affecting  it.  She,  on  her  part,  was  equally  eager 
to  draw  Millard  into  the  paths  of  feeling  and  action  she 


186  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

loved  so  well,  and  while  he  was  yet  trifling  with  his  gloves 
and  the  weather  topic,  she  began : 

"  Charley,  I  do  wish  you  could  have  heard  Mrs. 
Frankland's  talk  to-day."  Phillida's  hands  were  turned 
palms  downward  on  her  lap  as  she  spoke ;  Millard  fancied 
that  their  lines  expressed  the  refinement  of  her  organiza 
tion. 

"  Why  doesn't  she  admit  men  ? "  he  said,  smiling. 
"  Here  you,  who  don't  need  any  betterment,  will  become 
so  good  by  and  by  that  you'll  leave  me  entirely  behind. 
We  men  need  evangelizing  more  than  women  do.  Why 
does  Mrs.  Frankland  shut  us  out  from  her  good  influ 
ences  ?  " 

"  Oh !  you  know  she's  an  Episcopalian,  and  Episco 
palians  don't  think  it  right  for  women  to  set  up  to  teach 
men." 

"  I'm  Episcopalian  enough,  but  if  a  woman  sets  up  as 
a  preacher  at  all,  I  don't  see  why  she  shouldn't  preach  to 
those  that  need  it  most.  It's  only  called  a  '  Bible  read 
ing  ' " — here  Charley  carefully  spread  his  gloves  across 
his  right  knee — "  there's  no  law  against  reading  the  Bible 
to  men  ?  "  he  added,  looking  up  with  a  quick  winning 
smile.  "Now  you  see  she  turns  the  scripture  topsy 
turvy.  Instead  of  women  having  to  inquire  of  their 
husbands  at  home,  men  are  obliged  to  inquire  of  their 
wives  and  sweethearts.  I  don't  mind  that,  though.  I'd 
rather  hear  it  from  you  than  from  Mrs.  Frankland  any 
day."  And  he  gathered  up  his  gloves,  and  leaned  back 
in  his  chair. 

Phillida  smiled,  and  took  this  for  an  invitation  to  re- 


TWO  WAYS.  187 

peat  to  him  part  of  what  Mrs.  Frankland  had  said.  She 
related  the  story  of  Elizabeth  Fry's  work  in  Newgate,  as 
Mrs.  Frankland  had  told  it,  she  retold  Mrs.  Frankland's 
version  of  Florence  Nightingale  in  the  hospital,  and  then 
she  paused. 

"  There,  Charley,"  she  said  deprecatingly,  "  I  can't 
tell  these  things  with  half  the  splendid  effect  that  Mrs. 
Frankland  did.  But  it  made  a  great  impression  on  me. 
I  mean  to  try  to  be  more  useful." 

"  You  ?  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  any  better  than 
you  are,  my  dear.  That  kind  of  talk  is  good  for  other 
people,  but  it  isn't  meant  for  you." 

"  Don't  say  that ;  please  don't.  But  Mrs.  Frankland 
made  a  deep  impression  on  all  the  people  at  Mrs.  Van 
Home's." 

"  At  Mrs.  Van  Home's  ? "  he  asked,  with  curiosity 
mingled  with  surprise. 

"  Yes ;  I  went  with  Mrs.  Hilbrough." 

"Whew!  Has  Mrs.  Frankland  got  in  there?"  he 
said,  twirling  his  cane  reflectively.  "  I  hadn't  heard  it." 

"  It  isn't  quite  fair  for  you  to  say  '  got  in  there,'  is  it, 
Charley?  Mrs.  Frankland  was  invited  by  Mrs.  Van 
Home  to  give  her  readings  at  her  house,  and  she  thought 
it  might  do  good,"  said  Phillida,  unwilling  to  believe 
that  anybody  she  liked  could  be  more  worldly  than  she 
was  herself. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  slightingly  of  Mrs.  Frank- 
land,"  he  said;  "  I  suppose  she  is  a  very  good  woman. 
But  I  know  she  asked  Mrs.  Hilbrough  to  let  her  read  in 
her  house.  I  only  guessed  that  she  must  have  managed 


188  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

Mrs.  Van  Home  in  some  way.  It  is  no  disgrace  for  her  to 
seek  to  give  her  readings  where  she  thinks  they  will  do 
good." 

"  Did  she  ask  Mrs.  Hilbrough?"  said  Phillida. 

"  Mrs.  Hilbrough  told  me  so,  and  the  Van  Home 
opening  may  have  been  one  of  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  clever 
contrivances.  That  woman  is  a  perfect  general.  This 
reading  at  Mrs.  Van  Home's  must  be  a  piece  of  her  fine 
work." 

Just  why  this  view  of  the  case  should  have  pained 
Phillida  she  could  hardly  have  told.  She  liked  to  dwell 
in  a  region  of  high  ideals,  and  she  hated  the  practical 
necessities  that  oblige  high  ideals  to  humble  themselves 
before  they  can  be  incarnated  into  facts.  There  could  be 
no  harm  in  Mrs.  Frankland's  seeking  to  reach  the  people 
she  wished  to  address,  but  the  notion  of  contrivance  and 
management  for  the  promotion  of  a  mission  so  lofty  made 
that  mission  seem  a  little  shop-worn  and  offended  Phil- 
lida's  love  of  congruity.  Then,  too,  she  felt  that  to  Mil- 
lard  Mrs.  Frankland  was  not  so  worshipful  a  figure  as  to 
herself,  and  a  painful  lack  of  concord  in  thought  and 
purpose  between  her  lover  and  herself  was  disclosed.  The 
topic  was  changed,  but  the  two  did  not  get  into  the  same 
groove  of  thought  during  the  evening. 

Even  though  a  lover,  Millard  did  not  lose  his  charac 
teristic  thoughtfulness.  Knowing  that  early  rest  was 
important  for  the  mother,  and  conjecturing  that  she  slept 
just  behind  the  sliding-doors,  Charley  did  not  allow  him 
self  to  outstay  his  time.  It  was  only  when  he  had  taken 
his  hat  to  leave  that  he  got  courage  to  ask  Phillida  if  she 


TWO  WAYS.  189 

were  engaged  for  the  next  afternoon.  When  she  said  no, 
he  proposed  the  theater.  Phillida  would  have  refused 
the  invitation  an  hour  before,  but  in  the  tenderness  of 
parting  she  had  a  remorseful  sense  of  pain  regarding  the 
whole  interview.  With  a  scrupulousness  quite  character 
istic  she  had  begun  to  blame  herself.  To  refuse  the  invi 
tation  to  the  Irving  matinee  would  be  to  add  to  an  unde 
fined  estrangement  which  both  felt  but  refused  to  admit, 
and  so,  with  her  mind  all  in  a  jumble,  she  said :  "  Yes ; 
certainly.  I'll  go  if  you  would  like  me  to,  Charley." 

But  she  lay  awake  long  that  night  in  dissatisfaction 
with  herself.  She  had  gained  nothing  with  Charley,  her 
ideals  had  been  bruised  and  broken,  her  visions  of  future 
personal  excellence  were  now  confused,  and  she  was  com 
mitted  to  give  valuable  time  to  what  seemed  to  her  a  sort 
of  dissipation.  Would  she  never  be  able  to  emulate  Mrs. 
Fry  ?  Would  the  lofty  aspiration  she  had  cherished  prove 
beyond  her  reach  ?  And  then,  once,  just  once,  there  in 
truded  the  unwelcome  thought  that  her  engagement  with 
Millard  was  possibly  a  mistake,  and  that  it  might  defeat 
the  great  ends  she  had  in  view.  The  thought  was  too 
painful  for  her ;  she  banished  it  instantly,  upbraiding 
herself  for  her  disloyalty,  and  replacing  the  image  of  her 
lover  on  its  pedestal  again.  Was  not  Charley  the  best 
of  men?  Had  he  not  been  liberal  to  the  Mission  and 
generous  to  Mina  Schulenberg  ?  Then  she  planned  again 
the  work  they  would  be  able  to  accomplish  together,  she 
diligent,  and  he  liberal,  until  thoughts  of  this  sort  min 
gled  with  her  dreams. 

She  went  to  see  Irving's  Shylock.     The  spectacular 


190  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

street  scenes  interested  her ;  the  boat  that  sailed  so  grace 
fully  on  the  dry  land  of  the  stage  excited  her  curiosity ; 
and  she  felt  the  beauty  and  artistic  delicacy  of  the  Portia. 
But  she  was  ill  at  ease  through  it  all.  She  was  too  much 
in  the  mood  of  a  moralist  to  see  the  play  merely  as  a 
work  of  art ;  she  could  not  keep  her  mind  from  reverting 
to  matters  having  nothing  to  do  with  the  play,  such  as 
the  versatility  of  an  actress's  domestic  relations.  And  she 
could  not  but  feel  that  in  so  far  as  the  play  diverted  her, 
it  did  so  at  the  expense  of  that  strenuousness  of  endeavor 
for  extraordinary  usefulness  which  her  mind  had  taken 
under  the  spell  of  Mrs.  Frankland's  speech. 

"Didn't  you  like  it?"  said  Millard,  when  they  had 
reached  the  fresh  air  of  the  street  and  disentangled  them 
selves  from  the  debouching  crowd — a  noble  pair  to  look 
upon  as  they  walked  thus  in  the  late  afternoon. 

"  Yes,"  said  Phillida,  spreading  her  parasol  against  the 
slant  beams  of  the  declining  sun,  which  illuminated  the 
red  brick  walls  and  touched  the  lofty  cornices  and  the 
worn  stones  of  the  driveway  with  high  lights,  while  now 
this  and  now  that  distant  window  seemed  to  burn  with 
ruddy  fire — "  yes ;  I  couldn't  help  enjoying  Miss  Terry's 
Portia.  I  am  no  judge,  but  as  a  play  I  think  it  must 
have  been  good." 

"Why  do  you  say  'as  a  play'?"  he  asked.  "What 
could  it  be  but  a  play?"  He  punctuated  his  question  by 
tapping  the  pavement  with  his  cane. 

Phillida  laughed  a  little  at  herself,  but  added  with 
great  seriousness :  "  Would  you  think  worse  of  me, 
Charley,  if  I  should  tell  you  that  I  don't  quite  like 


TWO  WAYS.  191 

plays  ?  "  And  she  looked  up  at  him  in  a  manner  at  once 
affectionate  and  protesting. 

Millard  could  not  help  giving  her  credit  for  the  deli 
cacy  she  showed  in  her  manner  of  differing  from  him. 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  I  couldn't  but  think  the  best  of  you 
in  any  case,  Phillida,  but  you  might  make  me  think 
worse  of  myself,  you  know,  for  I  do  like  plays.  And 
more  than  that,"  he  said,  turning  full  upon  her,  "  you 
might  succeed  in  making  me  think  that  you  thought 
the  worse  of  me,  and  that  would  be  the  very  worst  of  all." 

This  was  said  in  a  half-playful  tone,  but  to  Phillida  it 
opened  again  the  painful  vision  of  a  possible  drawing 
apart  through  a  contrariety  of  tastes.  She  therefore  said 
no  more  in  that  direction,  but  contented  herself  with 
some  general  criticisms  on  Irving's  Shylock^  the  incon 
gruities  in  which  she  pointed  out,  and  her  criticisms, 
which  were  tolerably  acute,  excited  Millard Js  admira 
tion  ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  a  lover's  admira 
tion  should  maintain  any  just  proportion  to  that  which 
calls  it  forth. 

Again  the  Thursday  sermon  at  Mrs.  Van  Home's 
came  around,  and  again  Phillida  was  restored  to  a  white 
heat  of  zeal  mingled  with  a  rueful  distrust  of  her  own 
power  to  hold  herself  to  the  continuous  pursuit  of  her 
ideal.  Millard,  perceiving  that  she  dreaded  to  be  invited 
again,  refrained  from  offering  to  take  her  to  the  theater. 
He  waited  several  wreeks,  and  then  ventured,  with  some 
hesitation,  to  ask  her  to  go  with  him  to  see  one  of  the 
Wagner  operas.  He  was  frightened  at  his  own  boldness 
in  asking,  and  he  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  ferule  of  his 


192  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

cane  with  which  he  was  tapping  the  toe  of  his  boot,  afraid 
to  look  up  while  she  answered.  She  saw  how  timidly  he 
asked,  and  her  heart  was  cruelly  wounded  by  the  necessity 
she  felt  to  refuse ;  but  she  had  fortified  herself  to  resist 
just  such  a  temptation. 

"  I'd  rather  not  go,  Charley,"  she  said  slowly,  in  ac 
cents  so  pleading  and  so  full  of  pain  that  Millard  felt 
remorse  that  he  should  have  suggested  such  a  thing. 

But  this  traveling  on  divergent  lines  could  not  but 
have  its  effect  upon  them.  He  was  too  well-mannered, 
she  was  too  good,  both  were  too  affectionate,  for  them  to 
quarrel  easily.  But  there  took  place  something  that 
could  hardly  be  called  estrangement ;  it  was  rather  what 
a  Frenchman  might,  with  a  refinement  not  possible  in 
our  idiom,  call  an  eloignement.  In  spite  of  their  exer 
tions  to  come  together,  they  drew  apart.  This  process 
was  interrupted  by  seasons  of  renewed  tenderness.  But 
Phillida's  zeal,  favored  by  Mrs.  Frankland's  meetings, 
held  her  back  from  those  pursuits  into  which  Millard 
would  have  drawn  her,  and  only  a  general  interest  in  her 
altruistic  aims  was  possible  to  him.  Again  and  again  he 
made  some  exertion  to  enter  into  her  pursuits,  but  he 
could  never  get  any  farther  than  he  could  go  by  the  aid 
of  his  check-book.  Once  or  twice  she  went  with  him  to 
some  public  entertainment,  but  those  social  pursuits  to 
which  he  was  habituated  she  avoided  as  dissipations. 
Thus  they  loved  each  other,  but  it  is  pitiful  to  love  as 
they  did,  while  unable  to  conceal  from  themselves  that  a 
gulf  lay  between  the  main  tastes  and  pursuits,  of  the  one 
and  the  other. 


XVI. 
A  SEANCE  AT  MRS.  VAN  HOUNE'S. 

THE  Bible  reader  was  no  polemic.  People  of  every 
sect  were  gathered  under  the  wings  of  her  sympathies. 
In  vain  dogmatic  advisers  warned  her  against  Unitarians 
who  believe  too  little,  and  Swedenborgians  who  believe 
too  much.  Mrs.  Frankland's  organ  of  judgment  lay  in 
her  affections  and  emotions,  and  those  who  felt  as  she 
felt  were  accepted  without  contradiction,  or,  as  she  put 
it,  mostly  in  Scripture  phrase,  which  she  delivered  in  a 
rich  orotund  voice :  "  Let  us  receive  him  that  is  weak  in 
the  faith,  but  not  to  doubtful  disputation." 

Ascertain  sort  of  combativeness  she  had,  but  it  was 
combativeness  with  the  edge  taken  off.  It  served  to 
direct  her  choice  of  topics,  but  not  to  give  asperity  or 
polemical  form  to  her  discourses.  Suddenly  introduced 
to  the  very  heart  of  Vanity  Fair,  she  had  caught  her  first 
inspiration  by  opposition,  and  this  led  her  to  hold  forth 
on  such  themes  as  consecration.  But  as  her  acquaintance 
with  people  of  wealth  extended  she  found  that  even  they, 
conservative  by  very  force  of  abundance,  were  affected  by 
the  unbelieving  spirit  of  a  critical  age.  The  very  pros 
perous  are  partly  under  shelter  from  the  prevailing  in 
tellectual  currents  of  their  time.  Those  whose  attention 

13 


194:  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

is  engrossed  by  things  are  in  so  far  shut  out  from  the 
appeal  of  ideas.  But  thought  is  very  penetrating ;  it  will 
reach  by  conduction  what  it  can  not  attain  by  radiation. 
An  intellectual  movement  touches  the  highest  and  the 
lowest  with  difficulty,  but  it  does  at  length  affect  in  a 
measure  even  those  whose  minds  are  narcotized  by  abun 
dance  as  well  as  those  whose  brains  are  fagged  by  too 
much  toil  and  care.  When  Mrs.  Frankland  became 
aware  that  there  was  unbelief,  latent  and  developed, 
among  her  hearers,  the  prow  of  her  oratory  veered 
around,  and  faith  became  now,  as  consecration  had  been 
before,  the  pole-star  toward  which  this  earnest  and  clever 
woman  aimed.  With  such  a  mind  as  hers  the  topic  un 
der  consideration  becomes  for  the  time  supreme.  Sol 
emnly  insisting  on  a  renunciation  of  all  possibility  of 
merit  as  a  condition  precedent  to  faith,  she  proceeded 
to  exalt  belief  itself  into  the  most  meritorious  of  acts. 
This  sort  of  paradox  is  common  to  all  popular  religious 
teachers. 

Mrs.  Frankland's  new  line  of  talk  about  the  glories  of 
faith  had  a  disadvantage  for  Phillida  in  that  it  also  fell 
in  with  a  tendency  of  her  nature  and  with  the  habits 
nourished  in  her  by  her  father.  Millard  thought  he  had 
reached  the  depths  of  her  life  in  coming  to  know  about 
her  work  among  the  poor,  but  a  woman's  motives  are  apt 
to  be  more  involved  than  a  man  imagines  or  than  she  can 
herself  quite  understand  Below  the  philanthropic  Phil 
lida  lay  the  devout  Phillida,  who  believed  profoundly 
that  in  her  devotions  she  was  able  to  touch  hands  with 
the  ever-living  God  himself.  Under  the  stimulus  of  Mrs. 


A  SfiANCE  AT  MRS.  VAN  HORNE'S.  195 

Frankland's  words  this  belief  became  so  absorbing  that 
the  common  interests  of  life  became  to  her  remote  and 
almost  unreal.  Her  work  in  the  Mission  was  more  and 
more  her  life,  and  perhaps  the  necessity  for  accommodat 
ing  herself  a  little  to  the  habits  and  tastes  of  a  lover  was 
her  main  preservative  from  a  tendency  to  degenerate  into 
a  devotee. 

While  Mrs.  Frankland  aroused  others,  her  eloquence 
also  influenced  the  orator  herself.  Advocacy  increased 
the  force  of  conviction,  and  the  growing  intensity  of  con 
viction  in  turn  reinforced  the  earnestness  of  advocacy. 
Irreverent  people  applied  an  old  joke  and  called  her  "  the 
apostle  to  the  genteels,"  and  in  the  region  to  which  she 
seemed  commissioned  the  warmth  of  her  zeal  was  not 
likely  to  work  harm.  What  effect  it  had  was  in  the  main 
good.  But  the  material  in  her  hands  was  only  combusti 
ble  in  a  slow  way;  the  plutocratic  conscience  is  rarely 
inflammable — for  the  most  part  it  smolders  like  punk. 
Nor  was  Mrs.  Frankland  herself  in  any  danger  of  being 
carried  by  her  enthusiasms  into  fanaticism  of  action. 
However  her  utterances  might  savor  of  ultraism,  she  was 
conservative  enough  in  practical  matters  to  keep  a  sort 
of  "  Truce  of  God  "  with  the  world  as  she  found  it. 

But  to  Phillida,  susceptible  as  a  saint  on  the  road  to 
beatification,  the  gradually  augmented  fervor  of  Mrs. 
Frankland's  declamation  worked  evil.  It  was  especially 
painful  to  Agatha  that  her  sister  was  propelled  by  this 
influence  farther  and  farther  out  of  the  safe  lines  of  com 
monplace  feeling  and  action,  and  that  every  wind  from 
Mrs.  Frankland's  quarter  of  the  heavens  tended  to  drift 


196  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

her  fartLer  and  farther  away  from  her  lover.  Agatha's 
indignation  broke  out  into  all  sorts  of  talk  against  Mrs. 
Frankland,  whom  she  did  not  scruple  to  denounce  for  a 
Pharisee,  binding  heavy  burdens  on  the  back  of  poor 
Phillida,  but  never  touching  them  with  her  own  little 
finger. 

Mrs.  Frankland's  discourses  on  faith  reached  their 
zenith  on  a  January  day,  when  the  carriage  wheels  that 
rolled  in  front  of  Mrs.  Van  Home's  made  a  ringing  al 
most  like  the  breaking  of  glass  in  the  hard  frozen  snow 
of  the  streets,  and  when  the  luxurious  comfort  within 
the  house  was  the  more  deliciously  appreciable  from  the 
deadly  frostiness  of  the  bone  -  piercing  wind  without. 
Only  Phillida  of  all  the  throng  found  her  comfort  dis 
turbed  by  remembering  the  coachmen  who  returned  for 
their  mistresses  before  the  end  of  the  discourse.  It  cost 
those  poor  fellows  a  pang  to  do  despite  to  their  wonted 
dignity  of  demeanor  by  smiting  their  arms  against  their 
bodies  to  keep  from  perishing.  But  even  a  coachman 
accustomed  to  regard  himself  as  the  main  representative 
of  the  unbending  perpendicularity  of  a  ten-million  family 
must  give  way  a  little  before  a  January  north  wind  in  the 
middle  of  a  cold  wave,  when  his  little  fur  cape  becomes  a 
mockery  and  his  hard  high  hat  a  misery.  However  ad 
mirable  Mrs.  Frankland's  prolonged  sessions  may  have 
seemed  to  the  ladies  with  tear-stained  cheeks  within  the 
house,  it  appeared  far  from  laudable  as  seen  from  the 
angle  of  a  coachman's  box. 

The  address  on  this  day  followed  a  reading  of  the 
eleventh  chapter  of  Hebrews,  which  is  itself  the  rhapsody 


A  SEANCE  AT  MRS.  VAN  HORNE'S.  197 

of  an  eloquent  man  upon  faith.  If  this  were  written,  as 
some  suppose,  by  Apollos,  the  orator  of  the  early  Church, 
one  may  almost  fancy  that  he  reads  here  a  bit  of  one  of 
those  addresses  wherein  speaker  and  hearer  are  lifted  up 
together  above  the  meanness  and  exigencies  of  mere 
realism.  Mrs.  Frankland  accompanied  the  reading  of 
this  summary  of  faith's  victory  by  a  comment  consisting 
largely  of  modern  instances  carefully  selected  and  told 
with  the  tact  of  a  raconteur,  so  as  to  leave  the  maximum 
impression  of  each  incident  unimpaired  by  needless  de 
tails.  Some  of  these  stories  were  little  short  of  miracu 
lous  ;  but  they  were  dignified  by  the  manner  of  telling, 
which  never  for  an  instant  degenerated  into  the  babble 
of  a  mere  wonder-monger. 

As  usual,  Mrs.  Frankland,  or  the  oratorical  part  of 
her,  which  was  quite  the  majority  of  her  mind,  was  car 
ried  away  by  the  force  of  her  own  speech,  and  in  lauding 
the  success  of  faith  it  seemed  to  her  most  praiseworthy  to 
push  her  eulogies  unfalteringly  to  the  extreme.  You  are 
not  to  understand  that  by  doing  this  she  vociferated  or 
indulged  in  vehement  gesture.  He  is  only  a  bastard 
orator  who  fancies  that  loud  ness  and  shrillness  of  tone 
can  enforce  conviction.  When  Mrs.  Frankland  felt  her 
self  about  to  say  extravagant  things  she  intuitively  set  off 
her  transcendent  utterances  by  assuming  a  calm  demeanor 
and  the  air  of  one  who  expresses  with  judicial  delibera 
tion  the  most  assured  and  long-meditated  conclusions. 
So  to-day  she  closed  her  little  Oxford  Bible  and  laid  it  on 
the  richly  inlaid  table  before  her,  deliberately  depositing 
her  handkerchief  upon  it  and  looking  about  before  she 


198  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

made  her  peroration,  which  was  in  something  like  the 
following  words,  delivered  with  impressive  solemnity  in  a 
deep,  rich  voice : 

"  Why  should  we  always  praise  faith  for  what  it  lias 
done?  Has  God  changed?  Faith  is  as  powerful  to-day 
as  ever  it  was  since  this  old  world  began.  If  the  sick  are 
not  healed,  if  the  dead  are  not  raised  to-day,  be  sure  it  is 
not  God's  fault.  I  am  asked  if  I  believe  in  faith-cure. 
There  is  the  Bible.  It  abounds  in  the  divine  healing. 
Nowhere  are  we  told  that  faith  shall  some  day  cease  to 
work  wonders.  The  arm  of  the  Lord  is  not  shortened. 
0  ye  of  little  faith !  the  victory  is  within  your  reach,  if 
you  will  but  rise  and  seize  upon  it.  I  see  a  vision  of  a 
new  Church  yet  to  come  that  shall  believe,  and,  believing 
as  those  of  old  believed,  shall  see  wonders  such  as  the 
faithful  of  old  saw.  The  sick  shall  be  healed;  women 
shall  receive  their  dead  raised  to  life  again.  AYhy  not 
now  ?  Rise  up,  0  believing  heart,  and  take  the  Lord  at 
his  word ! " 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Frankland  did  not  intend  that  declama 
tion  should  be  accepted  at  its  face  value;  certainly  she 
did  not  expect  it. 

After  a  hymn,  beautifully  and  touchingly  sung,  and 
a  brief  prayer,  ladies  put  on  their  sealskin  sacques,  thrust 
their  jeweled  hands  into  their  muffs,  and  went  out  to 
beckon  their  impatient  coachmen,  and  to  carry  home 
with  them  the  solemn  impressions  made  by  the  discourse, 
which  were  in  most  cases  too  vague  to  produce  other 
than  a  sentimental  result.  Yet  one  may  not  scatter  fire 
with  safety  unless  he  can  be  sure  there  are  no  dangerous 


A  STANCE  AT  MRS.  VAX  HORXE'S.  199 

combustibles  within  reach.  The  harm  of  credulity  is 
that  it  is  liable  to  set  a  great  flame  a-going  whenever  it 
reaches  that  which  will  burn.  A  belief  in  witches  is 
comparatively  innocuous  until  it  finds  favorable  condi 
tions,  as  at  Salem  a  couple  of  centuries  ago,  but,  in 
favorable  conditions,  the  idle  speculations  of  a  pedant, 
or  the  chimney-corner  chatter  of  old  women,  may  sud 
denly  become  as  destructive  as  a  pestilence. 

It  was  in  the  sincere  and  susceptible  soul  of  Phillida 
that  Mrs.  Frankland's  words  had  their  full  effect.  The 
lust  after  perfection — the  realest  peril  of  great  souls — was 
hers,  and  she  was  stung  and  humiliated  by  Mrs.  Frank- 
land's  rebuke  to  her  lack  of  faith,  for  the  words  so  im 
pressively  spoken  seemed  to  her  like  a  divine  message. 
The  whole  catalogue  of  worthies  in  the  eleventh  of  He 
brews  rose  up  to  reprove  her. 

"  I  suppose  Mrs.  Frankland's  been  talking  some  more 
of  her  stuff,"  said  Agatha  at  the  dinner  that  evening. 
"  I  declare,  Phillida,  you're  a  victim  of  that  woman.  She 
isn't  so  bad.  She  doesn't  mean  what  she  says  to  be  taken 
as- she  says  it.  People  always  make  allowances  for  mere 
preaching,  you  know.  But  you  just  swallow  it  all,  and 
then  you  get  to  be  so  poky  a  body  has  no  comfort  in  life. 
There,  now,  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,"  she 
added,  as  she  saw  the  effort  her  sister  was  making  t  self- 
control. 

Phillida  lay  awake  that  night  long  after  the  normal 
Agatha,  with  never  an  aspiration  of  the  lofty  sort,  slept 
the  blessed  sleep  of  the  heedless.  And  while  the  feeble 
glow  of  the  banked-down  fire  in  the  grate  draped  the 


200  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

objects  in  the  room  with  grotesque  shadows,  she  went 
over  again  the  bead-roll  of  faith  in  the  eleventh  of  He 
brews  and  heard  again  the  response  of  her  conscience  to 
the  solemn  appeal  of  Mrs.  Frankland,  and  prayed  for  an 
increase  of  faith,  and  went  to  sleep  at  last  reflecting  on 
the  faith  like  a  germinant  mustard  grain  that  should  up 
heave  the  very  mountains  and  cast  them  into  the  midst 
of  the  sea. 


XVII. 

A  FAITH  CURB. 

THE  next  day  the  cold  wave  had  begun  to  let  go  a 
little,  and  there  were  omens  of   a   coming  storm.     The 
forenoon  Phillida  gave  to  domestic  industry  of  one  sort 
and  another,  but  in  the  afternoon  she  put  on  her  over 
shoes  against  icy  pavements,  and  set  out  for  a  visit  to 
Wilhelmina  Schulenberg,  remembering  how  lonesome  the 
invalid   must   be   in   wintry   weather.     There   were   few 
loiterers  on  the  sidewalks  on  such  a  day,  but  Phillida 
was  pretty  sure  of  a  recognition  from  somebody  by  the 
time  she  reached  Avenue  A,  for  her  sympathetic  kindness 
had  made  friends  for  her  beyond  those  with  whom  she 
came  into  immediate  contact  as  a  Sunday-school  teacher. 
"  0  Miss  Callender,"  said  a  thinly  clad  girl  of  thirteen, 
with  chattering  teeth,  and  arms  folded  against  her  body 
for  warmth,  rocking  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  as  she 
stood  in  the  door  of   a  tenement   house,  "this  is  hard 
weather  for  poor  folks,  ain't   it?"      And   then,  unable 
longer  to  face  the  penetrating  rawness  of  the  east  wind, 
she  turned  and  ran  up  the  stairs. 

Phillida's  meditations  as  she  walked  were  occupied 
with  what  Mrs.  Frankland  had  said  the  day  before.  She 
reflected  that  if  she  herself  only  possessed  the  necessary 


202  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

faith  she  might  bring  healing  to  many  suffering  people. 
Why  not  to  Wilhelmina?  With  this  thought  there  came 
a  drawing  back — that  instinctive  resistance  of  human 
nature  to  anything  out  of  the  conventional  and  mediocre ; 
a  resistance  that  in  a  time  of  excitement  often  saves  us 
from  absurdity  at  the  expense  of  reducing  us  to  common 
place.  But  in  Phillida  this  conservatism  was  counter 
acted  by  a  quick  imagination  in  alliance  with  a  passion 
for  moral  excellence,  both  warmed  by  the  fire  of  youth ; 
and  in  all  ventures  youth  counts  for  much. 

"Dat  is  coot;  you  gomes  to  see  Mina  wunst  more 
already,"  said  Mrs.  Schulenberg,  whom  Phillida  encount 
ered  on  the  second  flight  of  stairs,  descending  with  a 
market-basket  on  her  arm.  She  was  not  the  strong- 
framed  peasant,  but  of  lighter  build  and  somewhat  finer 
fiber  than  the  average  immigrant,  and  her  dark  hair  and 
eyes  seemed  to  point  to  South  Germany  as  her  place  of 
origin. 

"  Wilhelmina  she  so  badly  veels  to-day,"  added  Mrs. 
Schulenberg.  "  I  don'  know  " — and  she  shook  her  head 
ominously — "  I  vas  mos'  afraid  to  leef  her  all  py  herself 
already.  She  is  with  bein'  zick  zo  tired.  She  dalk 
dreadful  dis  mornin'  already;  I  don'  know."  And  the 
mother  went  on  down  the  stairs  shaking  her  head  dole 
fully,  while  Phillida  climbed  up  to  the  Schulenberg  apart 
ment  and  entered  without  knocking,  going  straight  over 
to  the  couch  where  the  emaciated  girl  lay,  and  kissing 
her. 

Wilhelmina  embraced  her  while  Phillida  pushed  back 
the  hair  from  the  pale,  hard  forehead  with  something 


A  FAITH  CURE.  203 

like  a  shudder,  for  it  was  only  skin  and  skull.  In  the 
presence  of  sympathy  Wilhelmina's  mood  of  melancholy 
desperation  relaxed,  and  she  began  to  shed  tears. 

"0  Miss  Callender,  you  have  from  black  thoughts 
saved  me  to-day,"  she  said  in  a  sobbing  voice,  speaking 
with  a  slight  German  accent.  "If  I  could  only  die. 
Here  I  drag  down  the  whole  family  already.  I  make 
them  sorry.  Poor  Rudolph,  he  might  be  somebody  if 
away  off  he  would  go  wunst ;  but  no,  he  will  not  leave  me. 
It  is  such  a  nice  girl  he  love  ;  I  can  see  that  he  love  her. 
But  he  will  say  nothing  at  all.  He  feels  so  he  must  not 
anyway  leave  his  poor  sister ;  and  I  hate  myself  and  my 
life  that  for  all  my  family  is  unfortunate.  Black  thoughts 
will  come.  If,  now,  I  was  only  dead  ;  if  I  could  only  find 
some  way  myself  to  put  out  of  the  way  wunst,  for  Ru 
dolph  it  would  be  better,  and  after  a  while  the  house 
•would  not  any  more  so  sorry  be.  Last  night  I  thought 
much  about  it ;  but  when  falling  asleep  I  saw  you  plain 
come  in  the  door  and  shake  your  head,  and  I  say,  Miss 
Callender  think  it  wicked.  She  will  not  let  me.  But  I 
am  so  wicked  and  unfortunate." 

Here  the  frail  form  was  shaken  by  hysterical  weeping 
that  cut  off  speech.  Phillida  shed  tears  also,  and  one  of 
them  dropped  on  the  emaciated  hand  of  Wilhelmina. 
Phillida  quickly  wiped  it  away  with  her  handkerchief, 
but  another  took  its  place. 

"  Let  it  be,  Miss  Callender,"  sobbed  Wilhelmina ;  « it 
will  surely  make  me  not  so  wicked." 

She  looked  up  wistfully  at  Phillida  and  essayed  to 
speak ;  then  she  turned  her  eyes  away,  while  she  said : 


204:  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

"  If  now,  Miss  Callender,  you  would — but  may  be  you 
will  think  that  it  is  wicked  also." 

"Speak  freely,  dear,"  said  Phillida,  softly;  "it  will 
do  you  good  to  tell  me  all — all  that  is  in  your  heart." 

"If  you  would  only  pray  that  I  might  die,  then  it 
would  be  granted  already,  maybe.  I  am  such  a  curse,  a 
dreadful  curse,  to  this  house." 

"  No,  no ;  you  mustn't  say  that.  Your  sickness  is  a 
great  misfortune  to  your  family,  but  it  is  not  your  fault. 
It  is  a  greater  misfortune  to  you.  Why  should  you  pray 
to  die  ?  Why  not  pray  to  get  well  ?  " 

"  That  is  too  hard,  Miss  Callender.  If  now  I  had  but 
a  little  while  been  sick.  But  I  am  so  long.  I  can  not 
ever  get  well.  Oh,  the  medicines  I  have  took,  the  pills 
and  the  sarsaparillas  and  the  medicine  of  the  German 
doctor!  And  then  the  American  doctor  he  burnt  my 
back.  No ;  I  can't  get  well  any  more.  It  is  better  as  I 
die.  Pray  that  I  die.  Will  you  not  ?  " 

"  But  if  God  can  make  you  die  he  can  make  you  well. 
One  is  no  harder  than  the  other  for  him." 

"  No,  no ;  not  if  I  was  but  a  little  while  sick.  But 
you  see  it  is  years  since  I  was  sick." 

This  illogical  ground  of  skepticism  Phillida  set  her 
self  to  combat.  She  read  from  "S^Uiehnnia^sheepskin- 
bound  Testament,  printed  in  parallel  columns  in  English 
and  German,  the  story  of  the  miracle  at  the  Pool  of 
Bethesda,  the  story  of  the  woman  that  touched  the  hem 
of  the  garment  of  Jesus,  and  of  other  cures  told  in  the 
New  Testament  with  a  pathos  and  dignity  not  to  be  found 
in  similar  modern  recitals. 


A   FAITH   CUKE.  205 

Then  Phillida,  her  soul  full  of  hope,  talked  to  Mina 
of  the  power  of  faith,  going  over  the  ground  traversed  -by 
Mrs.  Frankland.  She  read  the  eleventh  of  Hebrews,  and 
her  face  was  transformed  by  the  earnestness  of  her  own 
belief  as  she  advanced.  Call  it  mesmerism,  or  what  you 
will,  she  achieved  this  by  degrees,  that  "Wilhelmina 
thought  as  she  thought,  and  felt  as  she  felt.  The  poor 
girl  with  shaken  nerves  and  enfeebled  vitality  saw  a 
vision  of  health.  She  watched  Phillida  closely,  and  lis 
tened  eagerly  to  her  words,  for  to  her  they  were  words 
of  life. 

"  Now,  Mina,  if  you  believe,  if  you  have  faith  as  a 
grain  of  mustard  seed,  all  things  are  possible." 

The  girl  closed  her  eyes  a  moment,  then  she  opened 
them  with  her  face  radiant. 

"  Miss  Callender,  I  do  believe." 

Already  her  face  was  changing  under  the  powerful 
influence  of  the  newly  awakened  hope.  She  folded  her 
hands  peacefully,  and  closed  her  eyes,  whispering : 

"  Pray,  Miss  Callender  ;  pray  !  " 

Phillida  laid  down  the  Bible  and  solemnly  knelt  by 
the  invalid,  taking  hold  of  one  of  her  hands.  It  would 
have  been  impossible  to  listen  to  the  prayer  of  one  so 
passionately  sincere  and  so  believingly  devout  without 
falling  into  sympathy  with  it.  To  the  bed -ridden  and 
long-despairing  Wilhelmina  it  made  God  seem  something 
other  than  she  had  ever  thought  him.  An  hour  before 
she  could  have  believed  that  God  might  be  persuaded  to 
take  her  life  in  answer  to  prayer,  but  not  that  he  could 
be  brought  to  restore  her.  The  moment  that  Phillida 


206  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

began  to  pray,  a  new  God  appeared  to  her  mind — Phil 
lida's  God.  Wilhelmina  followed  the  action  of  Phillida's 
mind  as  a  hypnotized  subject  does  that  of  the  dominant 
agent :  as  Phillida  believed,  so  she  believed ;  Phillida's 
confidence  became  hers,  and  the  weak  nerves  tingled  all 
the  way  from  the  nerve-centers  with  new  life. 

"Now,  Wilhelmina,"  said  Phillida  at  length,  slowly 
rising  from  her  knees  and  looking  steadily  into  the  in 
valid's  eyes,  "  the  good  Lord  will  make  you  whole.  Eise 
up  and  sit  upon  the  bed,  believing  with  all  your  heart." 

In  a  sort  of  ecstasy  the  invalid  set  to  work  to  obey. 
There  was  a  hideous  trick  of  legerdemain  in  the  last 
generation,  by  which  an  encoffined  skeleton  was  made  to 
struggle  to  its  feet.  Something  like  this  took  place  as 
Mina's  feeble  arms  were  brought  into  the  most  violent 
effort  to  assist  her  to  rise.  But  a  powerful  emotion,  a 
tremendous  hope,  stimulated  the  languid  nerves;  the 
almost  disused  muscles  were  galvanized  into  power ;  and 
Wilhelmina  succeeded  at  length  in  sitting  upright  with 
out  support  for  the  first  time  in  years.  When  she  per 
ceived  this  actually  accomplished  she  cried  out :  "  0  God ! 
I  am  getting  well !  " 

Wilhelmina's  mother  had  come  to  the  top  of  the  stairs 
just  as  Phillida  had  begun  to  pray.  She  paused  without 
the  door  and  listened  to  the  prayer  and  to  what  followed. 
She  now  burst  into  the  room  to  see  her  daughter  sitting 
up  on  the  side  of  her  couch ;  and  then  there  were  em 
braces  and  tears,  and  ejaculations  of  praise  to  God  in 
German  and  in  broken  English. 

"Sit  there,  Mina,  and  believe  with  all  your  heart," 


A  FAITH  CURE.  207 

said  Phillida,  who  was  exteriorly  the  calmest  of  the  three; 
"  I  will  come  back  soon." 

Wilhelmina  did  as  she  was  bidden.  The  shock  of 
excitement  thus  prolonged  was  overcoming  the  sluggish 
ness  of  her  nerves.  The  mother  could  not  refrain  from 
calling  in  a  neighbor  who  was  passing  by  the  open  door, 
and  the  news  of  Mina's  partial  restoration  spread  through 
the  building.  When  Phillida  got  back  from  the  Diet 
Kitchen  with  some  savory  food,  the  doorway  was  blocked ; 
but  the  people  stood  out  of  her  way  with  as  much  awe  as 
they  would  had  she  worn  an  aureole,  and  she  passed  in 
and  put  the  food  before  Wilhelmina,  who  ate  with  a 
relish  she  hardly  remembered  to  have  known  before. 
The  spectators  dropped  back  into  the  passageway,  and 
Phillida  gently  closed  the  door. 

"Now,  Wilhelmina,  lie  down  and  rest.  To-rnorrow 
you  will  walk  a  little.  Keep  on  believing  with  all  your 
heart," 

Having  seen  the  patient,  who  was  fatigued  with  un 
wonted  exertion,  sleeping  quietly,  Phillida  returned  home. 
She  said  nothing  of  her  experiences  of  the  day,  but  Mil- 
lard,  who  called  in  the  evening,  found  her  more  abstracted 
and  less  satisfactory  than  ever.  For  her  mind  continually 
reverted  to  her  patient 


XVIII. 
FAITH-DOCTOR  AND  LOVER. 

THE  next  day,  though  a  great  snow-storm  had  burst 
upon  the  city  before  noon,  Phillida  made  haste  after 
luncheon  to  work  her  way  first  to  the  Diet  Kitchen  and 
then  to  the  Schulenberg  tenement.  When  she  got  with 
in  the  shelter  of  the  doorway  of  the  tenement  house  she 
was  well-nigh  exhausted,  and  it  was  half  a  minute  before 
she  could  begin  the  arduous  climbing  of  the  stairs. 

"  I  thought  you  would  not  come,"  said  Wilhelmina 
with  something  like  a  cry.  of  joy.  « I  have  found  it  hard 
to  keep  on  believing,  but  still  I  have  believed  and  prayed. 
I  was  afeard  if  till  to-morrow  you  waited  the  black 
thoughts  would  come  back  again.  Do  you  think  I  can 
sit  up  wunst  more  already  ?  " 

"  If  you  have  faith ;  if  you  believe." 

Under  less  excitement  than  that  of  the  day  before, 
Mina  found  it  hard  to  get  up;  but  at  length  she  suc 
ceeded.  Then  she  ate  the  appetizing  food  that  Phillida 
set  before  her.  Meantime  the  mother,  deeply  affected, 
took  her  market-basket  and  went  out,  lest  somehow  her 
presence  should  be  a  drawback  to  her  daughter's  re 
covery. 

While   the    feeble   Wilhelmina   was   eating,    Phillida 


FAITH-DOCTOR  AND  LOVER.  209 

drew  the  only  fairly  comfortable  chair  in  the  room  near 
to  the  stove,  and,  taking  from  a  bed  some  covering,  she 
spread  it  over  the  back  and  seat  of  the  chair.  Then, 
when  the  meal  was  completed,  she  read  from  the  Acts  of 
the  Apostles  of  the  man  healed  at  the  gate  of  the  temple 
by  Simon  Peter.  With  the  book  open  in  her  hand,  as 
she  sat,  she  offered  a  brief  fervent  prayer. 

"Now,  Wilhelmina,  doubt  nothing,"  she  said.  "In 
the  name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  rise  up  and  walk  !  " 

The  invalid  had  again  caught  the  infection  of  Phil- 
lida's  faith,  and  with  a  strong  effort,  helping  herself  by 
putting  her  hand  on  Phillida's  shoulder,  she  brought  her 
self  at  length  to  her  feet,  where  she  stood  a  moment,  tot 
tering  as  though  about  to  fall. 

"  Walk  to  the  chair,  dear,  nothing  wavering,"  com 
manded  Phillida,  and  Mina,  with  much  trembling,  let  go 
of  Phillida's  shoulder,  and  with  sadly  unsteady  steps  tot 
tered  forward  far  enough  to  lay  hold  of  the  back  of  the 
chair,  and  at  length  succeeded,  with  much  ado,  in  sitting 
down  without  assistance.  For  years  she  had  believed 
herself  forever  beyond  hope  of  taking  a  step.  She  leaned 
back  against  the  pillow  placed  behind  her  by  Phillida, 
and  wept  for  very  joy. 

"  But,  Miss  Callender,"  she  said  after  a  while,  "  the 
man  you  read  about  in  the  Bible  was  made  all  well  at 
once,  and  he  walked  and  leaped ;  but  I — " 

"  Perhaps  our  faith  isn't  strong  enough,"  said  Phil- 
lid  a.  "  Maybe  it  is  better  for  us  that  you  should  get  well 
slowly,  like  the  man  that  Jesus  cured  of  blindness,  who, 

when  he  first  saw  men,  thought  they  looked  like  walking 
H 


210  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

trees.     Let  us  be  thankful  for  what  we  have,  and  not 
complain." 

In  a  few  weeks  Wilhelmina's  mental  stimulation  and 
graduated  physical  exercise  had  made  her  able  to  sit  up 
nearly  all  day,  to  walk  feebly  about  the  house,  and  even  to 
render  some  assistance  in  such  affairs  as  could  be  attend 
ed  to  while  sitting.  The  recovery,  though  it  went  no 
farther,  was  remarkable  enough  to  attract  much  atten 
tion,  and  the  fame  of  it  spread  far  and  wide  among  the 
people  in  the  eastern  avenues  and  those  connected  with 
the  Mission. 

This  new  development  of  Phillida's  life  increased  her 
isolation.  She  could  not  speak  to  her  family  about  her 
faith-cures,  nor  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  and  she  did  not  like 
to  confide  even  in  Mrs.  Frankland,  who  would,  she  felt 
sure,  make  too  much  of  the  matter.  Most  of  all,  it  was 
not  in  her  power  to  bring  herself  to  say  anything  to  Mil- 
lard  about  it.  The  latter  felt,  during  the  three  or  four 
weeks  that  followed  the  treatment  of  Wilhelmina,  that 
the  veil  between  him  and  the  inner  life  of  Phillida  was 
growing  more  opaque.  He  found  no  ground  to  quarrel 
with  Phillida ;  she  was  cordial,  affectionate,  and  dutiful 
toward  him,  but  he  felt,  with  a  quickness  of  intuition 
characteristic  of  him,  that  there  was  some  new  cause  of 
constraint  between  them. 

"  Phillida,"  he  said  one  evening,  a  month  after  Phil 
lida's  work  as  a  faith-doctor  had  begun,  "I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  more  about  your  mission  work." 

« I  don't  like  to  speak  of  that,"  she  replied.  "  It  is 
too  much  like  boasting  of  what  I  am  doing."  She  had 


FAITH-DOCTOR  AND  LOVER.  211 

no  sooner  said  this  than  she  regretted  it ;  her  fierce  con 
science  rose  up  and  charged  her  with  uncandid  speech. 
But  how  could  she  be  candid  ? 

"  I  don't  like  to  think,"  said  Millard,  "  that  so  large  a 
part  of  your  life — a  part  that  lies  so  near  to  your  heart — 
should  be  shut  out  from  me.  I  can't  do  your  kind  of 
work.  But  I  can  admire  it.  Won't  you  tell  me  about 
it?" 

Phillida  felt  a  keen  pang.  Had  it  been  a  question  of 
her  ordinary  work  in  the  months  that  were  past  she 
might  easily  have  spoken  of  it.  But  this  faith-healing 
would  be  dangerous  ground  with  Millard.  She  knew  in 
her  heart  that  it  would  be  better  to  tell  him  frankly 
about  it,  and  face  the  result.  But  with  him  there  she 
could  not  get  courage  to  bring  on  an  immediate  conflict 
between  the  affection  that  was  so  dear  and  the  work  that 
was  so  sacred  to  her. 

"  Charley,"  she  said  slowly,  holding  on  to  her  left  hand 
as  though  for  safety,  "I'm  afraid  I  was  not  very — very 
candid  in  the  answer  I  gave  you  just  now." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  anything,  or  tell  me  anything,  dear, 
that  gives  you  pain,"  he  said  with  quick  delicacy ;  "  and 
something  about  this  does  pain  you." 

Phillida  spoke  now  in  a  lower  tone,  looking  down  at 
her  hands  as  she  said,  with  evident  effort :  "  Because  you 
are  so  good,  I  must  try  to  be  honest  with  you.  There 
are  reasons  why  I  hesitate  to  tell — to  tell — you  all  about 
what  I  am  doing.  At  least  this  evening,  though  I  know 
I  ought  to,  and  I  will — I  will — if  you  insist  on  it." 

"  No,  dear  ;  no.     I  will  not  hear  it  now." 


212  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  But  I  will  tell  you  all  some  time.  It's  nothing  very 
bad,  Charley.  At  least  I  don't  think  it  is." 

"  It  couldn't  be,  I'm  sure.  Kothing  bad  could  exist 
about  you  " ;  and  he  took  her  hand  in  his.  "  Don't  say 
any  more  to-night.  You  are  nervous  and  tired.  But 
some  other  time,  when  you  feel  like  it,  speak  freely.  It 
won't  do  for  us  not  to  open  our  hearts  and  lives  to  each 
other.  If  we  fail  to  live  openly  and  truthfully,  our  little 
boat  will  go  ashore,  Phillida  dear — will  be  wrecked  or 
stranded  before  we  know  it." 

His  voice  was  full  of  pleading.  How  could  she  refuse 
to  tell  him  all?  But  by  all  the  love  she  felt  for  him,  sit 
ting  there  in  front  of  her,  with  his  left  hand  on  his  knee, 
looking  in  her  face,  and  speaking  in  such  an  honest, 
manly  way,  she  was  restrained  from  exposing  to  him  a 
phase  of  her  life  that  would  seem  folly  to  him  while  it 
was  a  very  holy  of  holies  to  her.  The  alternative  was 
cruel. 

"  Another  time,  Charley,  I  mean  to  tell  you  all,"  she 
said  ;  and  she  knew  when  she  said  it  that  procrastination 
would  not  better  the  matter,  and  in  the  silence  that  en 
sued  she  was  just  about  to  change  her  resolve  and  unfold 
the  whole  matter  at  once. 

But  Millard  said :  "  Don't  trouble  yourself.  I'm  sorry 
I  have  hurt  you.  Remember  that  I  trust  you  implicitly. 
If  you  feel  a  delicacy  in  speaking  to  me  about  anything, 
let  it  go." 

The  conversation  after  this  turned  on  indifferent  mat 
ters  ;  but  it  remained  constrained,  and  Millard  took  his 
leave  early. 


XIX. 

PROOF  POSITIVE. 

THE  more  Millard  thought  of  the  mysterious  reserve 
of  Phillida,  the  more  he  was  disturbed  by  it,  and  the  next 
Sunday  but  one  he  set  out  at  an  earlier  hour  than  usual 
to  go  to  Avenue  C,  not  this  time  with  a  comfortable  feel 
ing  that  his  visit  would  be  a  source  of  cheer  to  his  aunt, 
but  rather  hoping  that  her  quiet  spirit  might  somehow 
relieve  the  soreness  of  his  heart.  It  chanced  that  on  this 
fine  winter  Sunday  he  found  her  alone,  except  for  the 
one-year-old  little  girl. 

"  I  let  the  children  all  go  to  Sunday-school,"  she  said, 
"  except  baby,  and  father  has  gone  to  his  meeting,  you 
know." 

"  His  meeting  ?  I  did  not  know  that  he  had  any," 
said  Millard. 

"W'y,  yes,  Charley;  I  thought  you  knew.  Henry 
always  had  peculiar  views,"  she  said,  laughing  gently,  as 
was  her  wont,  at  her  husband's  oddities.  "  He  has  espe 
cially  disliked  preachers  and  doctors.  Lately  he  has  got 
the  notion  that  the  churches  do  not  believe  the  Bible 
literally  enough.  There  were  two  Swedes  and  one  Swiss 
in  his  shop  who  agreed  with  him.  From  reading  the 
Bible  in  their  way  and  reading  other  books  and  papers 


214  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

they  have  adopted  what  is  called  Christian  Science. 
They  have  found  some  other  men  and  women  who  be 
lieve  as  they  do,  and  a  kind  of  a  Christian  Science  woman 
doctor  who  talks  to  them  a  little — a  good  enough  woman 
in  her  way,  I  suppose— and  they  think  that  by  faith,  or 
rather  by  declaring  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  real 
disease,  and  believing  themselves  well,  they  can  cure  all 
diseases." 

"  All  except  old  age  and  hunger  ?  "  queried  Millard. 

The  aunt  smiled,  and  went  on.  "  But  father  and  his 
woman  doctor  or  preacher  don't  agree  with  your  Miss 
Callender.  They  say  her  cures  are  all  right  as  far  as  they 
go,  but  that  she  is  only  a  babe,  unable  to  take  strong 
meat.  The  Christian  Science  woman  in  Fourteenth 
street,  now,  they  say,  knows  all  about  it,  and  works  her 
cures  scientifically,  and  not  blindly  as  Miss  Callender 
does." 

This  allusion  to  cures  by  Phillida  set  Millard  into  a 
whirl  of  feeling.  That  she  had  been  doing  something  cal 
culated  to  make  her  the  subject  of  talk  brought  a  rush 
of  indignant  feeling,  but  all  his  training  as  a  man  of 
society  and  as  a  man  of  business  inclined  him  to  a 
prudent  silence  under  excitement.  He  turned  his  derby 
hat  around  and  around,  examining  the  crown  by  touch, 
and  then,  reversing  it,  he  scrutinized  the  address  of  the 
hatter  who  did  not  make  it.  Though  he  had  come  all 
the  way  to  Avenue  C  to  make  a  confidante  of  his  aunt, 
he  now  found  it  impossible  to  do  so.  She  had  rejoiced 
so  much  in  his  betrothal  to  her  friend,  how  could  he 
let  her  see  how  far  apart  he  and  Phillida  had  drifted? 


PROOF  POSITIVE.  215 

For  some  minutes  he  managed  to  talk  with  her  about  her 
own  family  matters,  and  then  turned  back  to  Phillida 
again. 

"Tell  me,  Aunt  Hannah,  all  you  know  about  Miss 
Calender's  cures.  I  don't  like  to  ask  her  because  she 
and  I  disagree  so  widely  on  some  things  that  we  do  not 
like  to  talk  about  them." 

His  aunt  saw  that  Charley  was  profoundly  disturbed. 
She  therefore  began  with  some  caution,  as  treading  on 
unknown  ground,  in  talking  with  him  about  Phillida. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  about  these  things, 
Charley.  But  in  anything  I  say  you  must  understand 
that  I  love  Miss  Callender  almost  as  much  as  you  do,  and 
if  anybody  can  cure  by  faith  she  can.  In  fact,  she  has 
had  wonderful  success  in  some  cures.  Besides,  she's  no 
money-maker,  like  the  woman  doctor  in  Fourteenth 
street,  who  takes  pay  for  praying  over  you,  and  rubbing 
your  head,  maybe.  You  know  about  the  cure  of  Wil- 
helmina  Schulenberg,  of  course  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  fully.  We  haven't  liked  to  talk  about  it. 
Wilhelmina  is  the  poor  creature  that  has  been  in  bed  so 
long." 

This  mere  fencing  was  to  cover  the  fact  that  Millard 
had  not  heard  anything  of  the  miracle  in  AYilhelmina's 
case.  But  seeing  his  aunt  look  at  him  inquiringly,  he 
added  : 

"  Is  she  quite  cured,  do  you  think — this  Miss  Schulen 
berg?" 

ie  No ;  but  she  can  sit  up  and  walk  about.  She  got 
better  day  after  day  under  Miss  Callender's  praying,  but 


216  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

lately,  I  think,  she  is  at  a  standstill.  Well,  that  was  the 
first,  and  it  made  a  great  talk.  And  I  don't  see  but  that 
it  is  very  remarkable.  Everybody  in  the  tenement  house 
was  wild  about  it,  and  Miss  Callender  soon  came  to  be 
pointed  at  by  the  children  on  the  street  as  '  the  woman 
doctor  that  can  make  you  well  by  praying  over  you.' 
Then  there  was  the  wife  of  the  crockery-store  man  in 
Avenue  A.  She  had  hysterical  fits,  or  something  of  the 
sort,  and  she  got  well  after  Miss  Callender  visited  her 
three  or  four  times.  And  another  woman  thought  her 
arm  was  paralyzed,  but  Miss  Callender  made  her  be 
lieve,  and  she  got  so  she  could  use  it.  But  old  Mr. 
Greenlander,  the  picture-frame  maker  in  Twentieth 
street,  didn't  get  any  better.  In  fact,  he  never  pre 
tended  to  believe  that  he  would." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  asked  Millard,  his 
lips  compressed  and  his  brows  contracted. 

"  Oh,  he  had  a  cataract  over  his  eye.  He's  gone  up  to 
the  Eye  and  Ear  Hospital  to  have  it  taken  off.  I  don't 
suppose  faith  could  be  expected  to  remove  that." 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  work  in  surgical  cases,"  said  Mil- 
lard. 

"  But  several  people  with  nervous  troubles  and  kind  of 
breakdowns  have  got  better  or  got  well,  and  naturally 
they  are  sounding  the  praises  of  Miss  Callender's  faith," 
added  his  aunt. 

"Do  you  think  Phillida  likes  all  this  talk  about  her? " 

"  No.  This  talk  about  her  is  like  hot  coals  to  her 
feet.  She  suffers  dreadfully.  She  said  last  Sunday  that 
she  wondered  if  Christ  did  not  shrink  from  the  talk  of  the 


PROOF   POSITIVE.  217 

crowds  that  followed  him  more  than  he  did  from  cruci 
fixion  itself.  She  is  wonderful,  and  I  don't  wonder  the 
people  believe  that  she  can  work  miracles.  If  anybody 
can  in  these  days,  she  is  the  one." 

Millard  said  nothing  for  a  time;  he  picked  at  the 
lining  of  his  hat,  and  then  put  it  down  on  the  table  and 
looked  out  of  the  window.  His  irritation  against  Phillida 
had  by  this  time  turned  into  affectionate  pity  for  her  self- 
imposed  suffering— a  pity  rendered  bitter  by  his  inability 
to  relieve  her. 

"  Do  you  think  that  Phillida  begins  to  suspect  that 
perhaps  she  has  made  a  mistake  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  while. 

"  No.  I'm  not  so  sure  she  has.  No  doctor  cures  in 
all  cases,  and  even  Christ  couldn't  heal  the  people  in 
Nazareth  who  hadn't  much  faith." 

"  She  will  make  herself  a  byword  in  the  streets,"  said 
Millard  in  a  tone  that  revealed  to  his  aunt  his  shame  and 
anguish. 

"Charley,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  "don't  let  yourself 
worry  too  much  about  Miss  Callender.  She  is  young  yet. 
She  may  be  wrong  or  she  may  be  right.  I  don't  say  but 
she  goes  too  far.  She's  a  house  plant,  you  know.  She 
has  seen  very  little  of  the  world.  If  she  was  like  other 
girls  she  would  just  take  up  with  the  ways  of  other  people 
and  not  make  a  stir.  But  she  has  set  out  to  do  what  she 
thinks  is  right  at  all  hazards.  Presently  she  will  get  her 
lesson,  and  some  of  her  oddities  will  disappear,  but  she'll 
never  be  just  like  common  folks.  Mind  my  words,  Char 
ley,  she's  got  the  making  of  a  splendid  woman  if  you'll 
only  give  her  time  to  get  ripe." 


218  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

I  believe  that  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Millard,  with 
a  sigh. 

"  I  tell  you,  Charley,  I  do  believe  that  her  prayers 
have  a  great  effect,  for  the  Bible  teaches  that.  Besides, 
she  don't  talk  any  of  the  nonsense  of  father's  Christian 
Science  woman.  I  can  understand  what  Phillida's  about. 
But  Miss  what's-her-name,  in  Fourteenth  street,  can't 
explain  to  save  her  life,  so's  you  can  understand,  how  she 
cures  people,  or  what  she's  about,  except  to  earn  money 
in  some  way  easier  than  hard  work.  There  comes  your 
uncle,  loaded  to  the  muzzle  for  a  dispute,"  said  Aunt 
Hannah,  laughing  mischievously  as  she  heard  her  hus 
band's  step  on  the  stairs. 

Uncle  Martin  greeted  Charley  with  zest.  It  was  no 
fun  to  talk  to  his  wife,  who  never  could  be  drawn  into  a 
discussion,  but  held  her  husband's  vagaries  in  check  as 
far  as  possible  by  little  touches  of  gentle  ridicule.  But 
Mr.  Martin  was  sure  that  he  could  overwhelm  Charley  Mil- 
lard,  even  though  he  might  not  convince  him.  So  when 
he  had  said,  "  How-are-yeh,  and  glad  to  see  yeh,  Charley, 
and  hope  yer  well,  and  how's  things  with  you  ?  "  he  sat 
down,  and  presently  opened  his  battery. 

"You  see,  Charley,  our  Miss  Bowyer,  the  Christian 
Science  healer,  is  well-posted  about  medicine  and  the 
Bible.  She  says  that  the  world  is  just  about  to  change. 
Sin  and  misery  are  at  the  bottom  of  sickness,  and  all  are 
going  to  be  done  away  with  by  spirit  power.  God  and 
the  angel  world  are  rolling  away  the  rock  from  the  sep 
ulchre,  and  the  sleeping  spirit  of  man  is  coming  forth. 
People  are  getting  more  susceptible  to  magnetic  and  psy 


PROOF  POSITIVE.  219 

— psy-co-what-you-may-call-it  influences.  This  is  bring 
ing  out  new  diseases  that  the  old  doctors  are  only  able  to 
look  at  with  dumb  amazement." 

Here  Uncle  Martin  turned  his  thumbs  outward  with  a 
flourish,  and  the  air  of  a  lad  who  had  solved  a  problem 
on  a  blackboard.  At  the  same  time  he  dropped  his  head 
forward  and  gazed  at  Charley,  who  was  not  even  amused. 

"  What  are  her  proofs  ?  "  demanded  Millard,  wearily. 

"  Proofs  ? "  said  Uncle  Martin,  with  a  sniff,  as  he 
reared  his  head  again.  "  Proofs  a  plenty.  You  just 
come  around  and  hear  her  explain  once  about  the  vermic 
— I  can't  say  the  word — the  twistifying  motion  of  the 
stomach  and  what  happens  when  the  nerve-force  gets  a 
set-back  and  this  motion  kind  of  winds  itself  upward  in 
stead  of  downward,  and  the  nerve-force  all  flies  to  the 
head.  Proofs  ?  "  Here  Uncle  Martin  paused,  ill  at  ease. 
"  Just  notice  the  cases.  The  proof  is  in  the  trying  of  it. 
The  cures  are  wonderful.  You  first  get  the  patient  into 
a  state  where  you  can  make  him  think  as  you  do.  Then 
you  will  that  he  shall  forget  all  about  his  diseases.  You 
make  him  feel  well,  and  you've  done  it." 

"  I  suppose  you  could  cure  him  by  forgetfulness  easily 
enough.  I  saw  an  old  soldier  with  one  leg  yesterday ;  he 
was  drunk  in  the  street.  And  he  had  forgotten  entirely 
that  one  leg  was  gone.  But  he  didn't  seem  to  walk  any 
better." 

"  That  don't  count,  Charley,  and  you're  only  making 
fun.  You  see  there  is  a  philosophy  in  this,  and  you 
ought  to  hear  it  from  somebody  that  can  explain  it." 

"  I'd  like  to  find  somebody  who  could,"  said  Charley. 


THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  Well,  now,  how's  this  ?  Miss  Bowyer — she's  a  kind 
of  a  preacher  as  well  as  a  doctor — she  says  that  God  is 
good,  and  therefore  he  couldn't  create  evil.  Yon  see? 
Well,  now,  God  created  everything  that  is,  so  there  can 
not  be  any  evil.  At  least  it  can't  have  any  real,  inde 
pendent — what-you-may-call-it  existence.  You  see,  Char 
ley?" 

"Yes;  what  of  it?" 

"  Well,  then,  sickness  and  sin  are  evil.  But  this  argu 
ment  proves  that  they  don't  really  exist  at  all.  They're 
only  magic-lantern  shadows  so  to  speak.  You  see  ?  Con 
vince  the  patient  that  he  is  well,  and  he  is  well."  Here 
Uncle  Martin,  having  pointed  out  the  easy  road  to  uni 
versal  health,  looked  in  solemn  triumph  from  under  his 
brows. 

"Yes,"  said  Millard,  "that's  just  an,  awfully  good 
scheme.  But  if  you  work  your  argument  backward  it  will 
prove  that  as  evil  exists  there  isn't  any  good  God.  But  if 
it's  true  that  sin  and  disease  have  no  real  existence,  we'll 
do  away  with  hanging  and  electrocution,  as  they  call  it, 
and  just  send  for  Miss  Bowyer  to  convince  a  murderer 
that  murder  is  an  evil,  and  so  it  can't  have  any  real  inde 
pendent  existence  in  a  universe  made  by  a  good  God." 

"  Well,  Charley,  you  make  fun  of  serious  things. 
You  might  as  well  make  fun  of  the  miracles  in  the 
Bible." 

"  Now,"  said  Millard,  "  are  the  cures  wrought  by 
Christian  Science  miracles,  or  are  they  founded  on  phi 
losophy?" 

"  They're  both,  Charley.     It's  what  they  call  the  psy- 


PROOF  POSITIVE.  221 

co-what-you-may-call-it  mode  of  cure.  But  it's  all  the 
same  as  the  miracles  of  the  Bible,"  said  Uncle  Martin. 

"  Oh,  it  is,"  said  Millard,  gayly,  for  this  tilt  had  raised 
his  spirits.  "  Now  the  miracles  in  the  Bible  are  straight- 
out  miracles.  Nobody  went  around  in  that  day  to  ex 
plain  the  vermicular  motion  of  the  stomach  or  the  up 
ward  action  of  nerve-force,  or  the  psychopathic  value  of 
animal  magnetism.  Some  of  the  Bible  miracles  would 
stump  a  body  to  believe,  if  they  were  anywhere  else  but 
in  the  Bible ;  but  you  just  believe  in  them  as  miracles  by 
walking  right  straight  up  to  them,  looking  the  difficulty 
in  the  eye,  and  taking  them  as  they  are  because  you  ought 
to."  Here  Charley  saw  his  aunt  laughing  gently  at  his 
frank  way  of  stating  the  processes  of  his  own  mind. 
Smiling  in  response,  he  added  :  "  You  believe  them,  or  at 
least  I  do,  because  I  can't  have  my  religion  without  them. 
But  your  Christian  psychopathists  bring  a  lot  of  talk 
about  a  science,  and  they  don't  seem  to  know  just 
whether  God  is  working  the  miracle  or  they  are  doing  it 
by  magnetism,  or  mind-cure,  or  psychopathy,  or  whether 
the  disease  isn't  a  sort  of  plaguey  humbug  anyhow,  and 
the  patient  a  fool  who  has  to  be  undeceived." 

"  Wy,  you  see,  Charley,  we  know  more  nowadays,  and 
we  understand  all  about  somnambulism  and  hyp-what- 
you-may-call-it,  and  we  understand  just  how  the  miracles 
in  the  Bible  were  worked.  God  works  by  law — don't  you 
see  ?  " 

"  The  apostles  did  not  seem  to  understand  it?"  asked 
Charley. 

"  No ;  they  were  mere  faith- doctors,  like  Miss  Callen- 


222  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

der,  for  instance,  doing  their  works  in  a  blind  sort  of 
way." 

"  The  apostles  will  be  mere  rushlights  when  you  get 
your  Christian  Science  well  a-going,"  said  Charley,  seri 
ously.  Then  he  rose  to  leave,  having  no  heart  to  await 
the  return  of  the  children. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Uncle  Martin,  "  the  world  is  under 
going  a  change,  Charley.  A  great  change.  Selfishness 
and  disease  shall  vanish  away,  and  the  truth  of  science 
and  Christianity  prevail."  Uncle  Martin  was  now  stand 
ing,  and  swinging  his  hands  horizontally  in  outward  gest 
ures,  with  his  elbows  against  his  sides. 

"  Well,  I  wish  to  goodness  there  was  some  chance  of 
realizing  your  hopes,"  said  Charley,  conciliatorily.  "  I 
must  go.  Good-by,  Uncle  Martin ;  good-by,  Aunt  Han 
nah." 

Uncle  Martin  said  good-by,  and  come  again,  Charley, 
and  always  glad  to  see  you,  you  know,  and  good  luck  to 
you.  And  Millard  went  down  the  stairs  and  bent  his 
steps  homeward.  As  the  exhilaration  produced  by  his 
baiting  of  Uncle  Martin's  philosophy  died  away,  his  heart 
sank  with  sorrowful  thoughts  of  Phillida  and  her  suffer 
ings,  and  with  indignant  and  mortifying  thoughts  of  how 
she  would  inevitably  be  associated  in  people's  minds  with 
mercenary  quacks  and  disciples  of  a  sham  science. 

He  would  go  to  see  her  at  once.  The  defeat  of  Uncle 
Martin  had  given  him  courage.  He  would  turn  the  same 
battery  on  Phillida.  Xo ;  not  the  same.  He  could  not 
ridicule  her.  She  was  never  quite  ridiculous.  Her  plane 
of  motive  was  so  high  that  his  banter  would  be  a  desecra- 


PROOF  POSITIVE. 

tion.  It  was  not  in  his  heart  to  add  to  the  asperity  of 
her  martyrdom  by  any  light  words.  But  perhaps  he 
could  find  some  way  to  bring  her  to  a  more  reasonable 
course. 

It  was  distinctly  out  of  his  way  to  cross  Tompkins 
Square  again,  but  in  his  present  mood  there  was  a  satis 
faction  to  him  in  taking  a  turn  through  the  square,  which 
was  associated  in  his  mind  with  a  time  when  his  dawning 
affection  for  Phillida  was  dimmed  by  no  clouds  of  separa 
tion.  Excitement  pushed  him  forward,  and  a  fine  figure 
he  was  as  he  strode  along  with  eager  and  elastic  steps, 
his  head  erect  and  his  little  cane  balanced  in  his  fingers. 
In  the  middle  of  the  square  his  meditation  was  cut  short 
in  a  way  most  unwelcome  in  his  present  frame  of 
mind. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Millard,  isn't  it?  "  he  heard  some  one  say, 
and,  turning,  he  saw  before  him  Wilhelmina  Schulenberg, 
not  now  seated  helpless  in  the  chair  he  had  given  her, 
but  hanging  on  the  arm  of  her  faithful  Rudolph. 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Schulenberg?''  said  Millard, 
examining  her  with  curiosity. 

"  You  see  I  am  able  to  walk  wunst  again,"  she  said. 
"  It  is  to  Miss  Callender  and  her  prayers  that  I  owe  it 
already." 

"  But  you  are  not  quite  strong,"  said  Millard.  "  Do 
you  get  better  ?  " 

"Not  so  much  now.  It  is  my  faith  is  weak.  If  I 
only  could  believe  already,  it  would  all  to  me  be  possi 
ble,  Mr.  Millard.  But  it  is  something  to  walk  on  my  feet, 
isn't  it,  Mr.  Millard?" 


224:  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  Indeed  it  is,  Miss  Schulenberg.  It  must  make  your 
good  brother  glad." 

Rudolph,  received  this  polite  indirect  compliment  a 
little  foolishly,  but  appreciation  from  a  fine  gentleman 
did  him  good,  and  after  Charley  had  gone  he  was  profuse 
in  his  praises  of  "Miss  Callender's  man,"  as  lie  called 
him. 


XX. 

DIVISIONS. 

MiLLAKD  went  no  farther  through  the  square,  bufc 
turned  toward  Tenth  street,  and  through  that  to  Second 
Avenue,  and  so  uptownward.  But  how  should  he  argue 
with  Phillida  ?  He  had  seen  an  indisputable  example  of 
the  virtue  of  her  prayers.  Though  he  could  not  believe 
in  the  miraculous  character  of  the  cure,  how  should  he 
explain  it?  That  Wilhelmina  had  been  shamming  was 
incredible,  that  her  ailments  were  not  imaginary  was 
proven  by  the  fact  of  her  recovery  being  but  partial.  To 
deny  the  abstract  possibility  of  such  a  cure  seemed  illogi 
cal  from  his  own  standpoint.  Even  the  tepid  rector  of 
St.  Matthias  had  occasionally  homilized  in  a  vague  way 
about  the  efficacy  of  faith  and  the  power  of  prayer,  but 
the  rector  seemed  to  think  that  this  potency  was  for  the 
most  part  a  matter  of  ancient  history,  for  his  illustrations 
were  rarely  drawn  from  anything  more  modern  than  the 
lives  of  the  Church  fathers,  and  of  the  female  relatives  of 
the  Church  fathers,  such  as  Saint  Monica.  Millard  could 
not  see  any  ground  on  which  he  could  deny  the  reality  of 
the  miracle  in  the  Schulenberg  case,  but  his  common 
sense  was  that  of  a  man  of  worldly  experience,  a  common 
sense  which  stubbornly  refuses  to  believe  the  phenomenal 

15 


THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

or  extraordinary,  even  when  unable  to  formulate  a  single 
reason  for  incredulity. 

After  an  internal  debate  he  decided  not  to  call  on 
Phillida  this  afternoon.  It  might  lead  to  a  scene,  a  scene 
might  bring  on  a  catastrophe.  But,  as  fortune  would 
have  it,  Phillida  was  on  her  return  from  the  Mission,  and 
her  path  coincided  with  his,  so  that  he  encountered  her 
in  Tenth  street.  He  walked  home  with  her,  asking  after 
her  health  and  talking  commonplaces  to  escape  conversa 
tion.  He  went  in — there  was  no  easy  way  to  avoid  it, 
had  he  desired.  She  set  him  a  chair,  arid  drew  up  the 
shades,  and  then  took  a  seat  near  him. 

"  I've  been  at  Aunt  Martin's  to-day,"  he  said. 

"  Have  you  ?  "  she  asked  with  a  sort  of  trepidation  in 
her  voice. 

"  Yes."  Then  after  a  pause  he  edged  up  to  what  he 
wished  to  say  by  adding :  "  I  had  a  curious  talk  with 
Uncle  Martin,  who  has  got  his  head  full  of  the  greatest 
jumble  of  scientific  terms  which  he  can  not  remember, 
and  nonsense  about  what  he  calls  Christian  Science.  He 
says  he  learned  it  from  Miss  Bowyer,  a  Christian  Science 
talker.  Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  have  only  heard  of  her  from  Mr.  Martin,  and 
I  don't  think  I  ought  to  judge  her  by  what  is  reported  of 
her  teaching.  Maybe  it  is  not  so  bad.  One  doesn't  like 
to  be  judged  at  second-hand,"  she  said,  looking  at  him 
with  a  quick  glance. 

"  Especially  when  Uncle  Martin  is  the  reporter,"  he 
replied. 

Meantime  Phillida's  eyes  were  inquiring  whether  he 


DIVISIONS.  227 

had  heard  anything  about  her  present  course  of  ac 
tion. 

"  I  saw  Wilhelmina  Schulenberg  in  Tompkins  Square 
to-day,"  he  said,  still  approaching  the  inevitable,  side- 
wise. 

"Did  you?"  she  asked  almost  in  a  whisper.  "Was 
she  walking  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Why  did  you  not  tell  me  she  was  better  ?  " 

Phillida  looked  down.  At  this  moment  her  reserve 
with  her  lover  in  a  matter  so  personal  to  herself  seemed 
to  her  extremely  reprehensible. 

"  I — I  was  a  coward,  Charley,"  she  said  with  a  kind  of 
ferocity  of  remorse.  This  self-accusation  on  her  part 
made  him  unhappy. 

"  You  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  are  no  coward.  You  are  a 
brave  woman."  He  leaned  over  and  lightly  kissed  her 
cheek  as  he  finished  speaking. 

"  I  knew  that  my  course  would  seem  foolish  to  you, 
and  I  couldn't  bear  that  you  should  know.  I  was  afraid 
it  would  mortify  you." 

"  You  have  suffered  much  yourself,  my  dear." 

She  nodded  her  head,  the  tears  brimming  in  her  eyes 
at  this  unexpected  sign  of  sympathy. 

"  And  borne  it  bravely  all  alone.  And  all  for  a  mis 
take — a  cruel  mistake." 

Millard  had  not  meant  to  say  so  much,  but  his  feel 
ings  had  slipped  away  from  him.  However,  he  softened 
his  words  by  his  action,  for  he  drew  out  his  handkerchief 
and  gently  wiped  away  a  tear  that  had  paused  a  moment 
in  its  descent  down  her  cheek. 


228  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  How  can  you  say  it  is  a  mistake  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You 
saw  Wilhelmina  yourself." 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  all  a  misunderstanding,  dear.  It's  all 
wrong,  I  tell  you.  You  haven't  seen  much  of  life,  and 
you'll  be  better  able  to  judge  when  you  are  older."  Here 
he  paused,  for  of  arguments  he  had  none  to  offer. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  anything  of  life  if  a  knowledge 
of  the  world  is  to  rob  me  of  what  is  more  precious  than 
life  itself."  Her  voice  was  now  firm  and  resolute,  and 
her  tears  had  ceased. 

Millard  was  angry  at  he  knew  not  what — at  whatever 
thing  human  or  supernal  had  bound  this  burden  of  mis 
belief  upon  so  noble  a  soul  as  Phillida's.  He  got  up  and 
paced  the  floor  a  moment,  and  then  looked  out  of  the 
window,  saying  from  time  to  time  in  response  to  depre 
catory  or  defensive  words  of  hers,  "  I  tell  you,  dear,  it's  a 
cruel  mistake."  Now  and  then  he  felt  an  impulse  to 
scold  Phillida  herself ;  but  his  affectionate  pity  held  him 
back.  His  irritation  had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  an 
object  on  which  to  vent  itself  at  length  when  Phillida 
said  : 

"  If  Mrs.  Frankland  would  admit  men  to  her  readings, 
Charley,  I'm  sure  that  if  you  could  only  hear  her  explain 
the  Bible—" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Millard,  tartly.  "  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  is  eloquent,  but  she  has  imposed  on  you  and  done 
you  a  great  deal  of  harm.  Why,  Phillida,  you  are  as 
much  superior  to  that  woman  as  the  sky  is — "  He  was 
about  to  say,  "  as  the  sky  is  to  a  mud-puddle,"  but 
nothing  is  so  fatal  to  offhand  vigor  of  denunciation  a« 


DIVISIONS.  229 

the  confirmed  habit  of  properness.  Millard's  preference 
for  measured  and  refined  speech  got  the  better  of  his 
wrath  barely  in  time,  and,  after  arresting  himself  a  mo 
ment,  he  finished  the  sentence  with  more  justness  as  he 
made  a  little  wave  with  his  right  hand — "  as  the  sky  is  to 
a  scene-painter's  illusion." 

Then  he  went  on  :  "  But  Mrs.  Frankland  is  persuasive 
and  eloquent,  and  you  are  too  sincere  to  make  allowance 
for  the  dash  of  exaggeration  in  her  words.  You  won't 
find  her  at  a  mission  in  Mackerelville.  She  is  dressed  in 
purple  by  presents  from  the  people  who  hear  her,  and 
Mrs.  Hilbrough  tells  me  that  Mrs.  Benthuysen  has  just 
given  her  a  check  of  a  thousand  dollars  to  go  to  Europe 
with." 

"  Why  shouldn't  they  do  such  things  for  her  ?  They 
hardly  know  what  to  do  with  their  money,  and  they 
ought  to  be  grateful  to  her,"  said  Phillida  with  heat. 
"  Charley,  I  don't  like  to  have  you  talk  so  about  so  good 
a  woman.  I  know  her  and  love  her.  You  don't  know 
her,  and  your  words  seem  to.  me  harsh  and  unjust." 

"  Well,  then  forgive  me,  dear.  I  forgot  that  she  is 
your  friend.  That's  the  best  thing  I  ever  knew  about 
her." 

Saying  this,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out  lest  he 
should  give  way  again  to  his  now  rising  indignation 
against  Mrs.  Frankland,  who,  as  the  real  author  of  Phil- 
lida's  trouble,  in  his  judgment  deserved  severer  words 
than  he  had  yet  applied  to  her.  But  when  he  had 
opened  the  front  door  he  turned  back  suddenly,  dis 
tressed  that  his  call  had  only  added  to  the  troubles  of 


230  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

Phillida.  She  sat  there,  immovable,  where  he  had  left 
her ;  he  crossed  the  room,  bent  over  her,  and  kissed  her 
cheek. 

"  Forgive  me,  darling ;  I  spoke  hastily." 
This  tenderness  overcame  Phillida,  and   she   fell  to 
weeping.     When   she   raised   her   head  a  moment   later 
Charley  had  gone,  and  the  full  confession  she  had  in 
tended  must  be  deferred. 

To  a  man  who  has  accepted  as  a  divine  authority  all 
the  conventions  of  society,  hardly  anything  that  could 
befall  a  young  woman  would  be  more  dreadful  than  to 
become  a  subject  of  notoriety.  His  present  interview 
with  Phillida  had  thoroughly  aroused  Millard,  and  he 
was  resolved  to  save  her  from  herself  by  any  means  with 
in  his  reach.  Again  the  alternative  of  an  early  marriage 
presented  itself.  He  might  hasten  the  wedding,  and  then 
take  Phillida  to  Europe,  where  the  sight  of  a  religious 
life  quite  different  from  her  own  would  tend  to  widen  her 
views  and  weaken  the  ardor  of  her  enthusiasm.  He  won 
dered  what  would  be  the  effect  upon  her,  for  instance,  of 
the  stack  of  crutches  built  up  in  monumental  fashion  in 
one  of  the  chapels  of  the  Church  of  St.  Germain  des  Pro's 
at  Paris — the  offerings  of  cripples  restored  by  a  Eoman 
Catholic  faith-cure.  But  he  reflected  that  the  wedding 
could  be  hardly  got  ready  before  Lent,  and  a  marriage  in 
Lent  was  repugnant  to  him  not  only  as  a  Churchman  but 
even  more  as  a  man  known  for  sworn  fealty  to  the  canons 
of  fashionable  society,  which  are  more  inexorable  than 
ecclesiastical  usages,  since  there  is  no  one  high  and  mighty 
enough  to  grant  a  dispensation  from  them.  It  had  long 


DIVISIONS.  231 

been  understood  that  the  wedding  should  take  place  some 
time  after  Easter,  and  it  seemed  best  not  to  disturb  that 
arrangement.  What  he  wanted  now  was  some  means 
of  checking  the  mortifying  career  of  Phillida  as  a  faith- 
doctor. 


XXI. 

MRS.  HILBROUGH'S  INFORMATION. 

CASTING  about  in  his  thoughts  for  an  ally,  he  hit 
upon  Mrs.  Hilbrough.  In  her  he  would  find  an  old 
friend  of  Phillida's  who  was  pretty  sure  to  be  free  from 
brain-fogs.  He  quickly  took  a  resolution  to  see  her.  It 
was  too  late  in  the  afternoon  to  walk  uptown.  On  a  fine 
Sunday  like  this  the  street  cars  would  not  have  strap- 
room  left,  and  the  elevated  trains  would  be  in  a  state  of 
extreme  compression  long  before  they  reached  Fourteenth 
street.  He  took  the  best-looking  cab  he  could  find  in 
Union  Square  as  the  least  of  inconveniences ;  and  just  as 
the  slant  sun,  descending  upon  the  Jersey  lowlands,  had 
set  all  the  windows  on  the  uptown  side  of  the  cross  streets 
in  a  ruddy  glow,  he  alighted  at  the  Hilbrough  door,  paid 
his  cabman  a  full  day's  wages,  after  the  manner  of  Xew 
York,  and  sent  up  his  card  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough  with  a 
message  that  he  hoped  it  would  not  incommode  her  to 
see  him,  since  he  had  some  inquiries  to  make.  Mrs.  Hil 
brough  descended  promptly,  and  there  took  place  the 
usual  preliminary  parley  on  the  subject  of  the  fine  day,  a 
parley  carried  on  by  Millard  with  as  little  knowledge  of 
what  he  was  saying  as  a  phonographic  doll  has.  Then 


MRS.   HILBROUGH'S  INFORMATION.  233 

begging  her  pardon  for  disturbing  her  on  Sunday  after 
noon,  he  asked : 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  about  Miss  Callender's 
course  as  a  faith- healer  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hilbrongh  took  a  moment  to  think  before  reply 
ing.  Here  was  a  direct,  even  abrupt,  approach  to  a 
matter  of  delicacy.  There  was  a  complete  lack  of  the 
diplomatic  obliquity  to  be  expected  in  such  a  case.  This 
was  not  like  Millard,  and  though  his  exterior  was  calm 
and  suave  enough  from  mere  force  of  habit,  she  quickly 
formed  an  opinion  of  his  condition  of  internal  ebullition 
from  his  precipitancy. 

"  I  did  not  hear  anything  about  it  until  Thursday,  two 
weeks  ago,  and  I  learned  certainly  about  it  only  yester 
day,"  she  replied,  resting  as  non-committal  as  possible 
until  the  drift  of  Millard's  inquiry  should  be  disclosed. 

"  May  I  ask  from  whom?"  He  was  now  sitting  bolt 
upright,  and  his  words  were  uttered  without  any  of  that 
pleasing  deference  of  manner  that  usually  characterized 
his  speech. 

"From  Mrs.  Maginnis — Mrs.  California  Maginnis," 
she  added  for  the  sake  of  explicitness  and  with  an  im 
pulse  to  relax  the  tension  of  Millard's  mind  by  playful 
ness. 

"Mrs.  Maginnis?"  he  said  with  something  like  a 
start.  "  How  does  Mrs.  Maginnis  know  anything  about 
what  takes  place  in  Mackerel ville  ?  " 

"  It  wasn't  the  Mackerelville  case,  but  one  a  good  deal 
nearer  home,  that  she  was  interested  in,"  said  Mrs.  Hil- 
brough.  "It's  too  warm  here,"  she  added,  seeing  him 


234:  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

wipe  his  brow  with  his  handkerchief.  She  put  her  hand 
to  the  bell,  but  withdrew  it  without  ringing,  and  then 
crossed  the  room  and  closed  the  register. 

Millard  proceeded  in  a  straightforward,  businesslike 
voice,  "  Tell  me,  please,  what  Mrs.  Maginnis  had  to  do 
with  Miss  Calender's  faith-cures  ?  " 

"  Her  relation  to  them  came  about  through  Mrs. 
Frankland." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Millard ;  "  I  expected  to  find  her 
clever  hand  in  it." 

The  mordant  tone  in  which  this  was  said  disconcerted 
Mrs.  Hilbrough.  She  felt  that  she  was  in  danger  of  be 
coming  an  accomplice  in  a  lovers'  quarrel  that  might 
prove  disastrous  to  the  pretty  romance  that  had  begun  in 
her  own  house.  She  paused  and  said : 

"I  beg  pardon,  Mr.  Millard,  but  I  ought  hardly  to 
discuss  this  with  you,  if  you  make  it  a  matter  of  feeling 
between  you  and  Phillida.  She  is  my  friend — " 

"  Mrs.  Hilbrough,"  he  interrupted,  taking  a  softer 
tone  than  before,  and  leaning  forward  and  resting  his 
left  hand  on  his  knee,  and  again  wiping  his  forehead 
with  his  handkerchief,  "  my  whole  destiny  is  involved  in 
the  welfare  of  Phillida  Callender.  I  haven't  quarreled 
with  her,  but  I  should  like  to  show  her  that  this  faith- 
curing  is  a  mistake  and  likely  to  make  her  ridiculous. 
You  said  that  Mrs.  Frankland — " 

"  Mrs.  Frankland,"  said  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  "  through 
somebody  connected  with  the  Mackerelville  Mission  got 
hold  of  the  story  of  the  cure  of  a  poor  German  girl  some 
where  down  about  what  they  call  Tompkins  Square.  Is 


MRS.  HILBROUGH'S   INFORMATION.  235 

that  the  name  of  a  square?  Well,  on  Thursday,  two 
weeks  ago,  when  Phillida  was  not  present,  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  told  this  story — " 

"  Trotted  it  out  as  a  fine  illustration  of  faith,"  broke 
in  Millard,  with  something  between  a  smile  and  a  sneer, 
adding,  "  with  Phillida's  name  attached." 

"  Xo,  she  didn't  give  the  name ;  she  spoke  of  her  as  a 
noble  Christian  young  woman,  the  daughter  of  a  devoted 
missionary  to  the  heathen,  which  made  me  suspect  Phil 
lida.  She  also  alluded  to  her  as  a  person  accustomed  to 
attend  these  meetings,  and  again  as  '  my  very  dear  friend,' 
and  i  my  beloved  young  friend.'  Mrs.  Maginnis  listened 
eagerly,  and  longed  to  know  who  this  was,  for  she  had  a 
little  girl  troubled  with  Saint  Vitus's  dance.  She  had 
just  been  to  see  Dr.  Legammon,  the  specialist." 

"  Who  always  begins  his  treatment  by  scaring  a  pa 
tient  half  to  death,  I  believe,  especially  if  the  patient  has 
money,"  said  Millard,  who,  in  his  present  biting  mood, 
found  a  grim  satisfaction  even  in  snapping  at  Dr.  Le- 
gammon's  heels. 

"  He  told  Mrs.  Maginnis  that  it  was  an  aggravated 
case  of  chorea,  and  that  severe  treatment  would  be  neces 
sary,"  continued  Mrs.  Hilbrough.  "  There  must  be  eye 
glasses,  and  an  operation  by  an  oculist,  and  perhaps 
electricity,  and  it  would  require  nearly  a  year  to  cure  the 
child  even  under  Dr.  Legammon;  and  he  didn't  even 
give  her  much  assurance  that  her  child  would  get  well  at 
all.  He  especially  excited  Mrs.  Maginnis's  apprehension 
by  saying, '  We  must  be  hopeful,  my  dear  madam.'  Mrs. 
Maginnis,  you  know,  is  strung  away  up  above  concert- 


236  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

pitch,  and  this  melancholy  encouragement  threw  her  into 
despair,  and  came  near  to  making  her  a  fit  patient  for  the 
doctor's  specialistic  attentions  in  a  private  retreat.  She 
couldn't  bring  herself  to  have  the  eyes  operated  on,  or 
even  to  have  electricity  applied.  It  was  just  after  this 
first  visit  to  the  doctor,  while  Mrs.  Maginnis  was  in 
despondency  and  her  usual  indecision,  that  she  heard 
Mrs.  Frankland's  address  in  which  the  cure  of  the  poor 
girl  in  the  tenement-house  was  told  as  an  illustration  of 
the  power  of  prayer." 

"  Mrs.  Frankland  worked  up  all  the  details  with  strik 
ing  effect,  no  doubt,"  said  Millard,  with  an  expression  of 
disgust. 

"  Well,  you  know  Mrs.  Frankland  can't  help  being 
eloquent.  Everybody  present  was  deeply  affected  as  she 
pictured  the  scene.  As  soon  as  the  meeting  closed,  Mrs. 
Maginnis,  all  in  a  sputter  of  excitement,  I  fancy,  sailed 
up  to  Mrs.  Frankland,  and  laid  her  troubles  before  her, 
and  wondered  if  Mrs.  Frankland  couldn't  get  her  young 
friend  to  pray  for  her  daughter  Hilda.  Phillida,  by 
solicitation  of  Mrs.  Frankland,  visited  the  Maginnises 
every  day  for  a  week.  They  sent  their  carriage  for 
her  every  afternoon,  I  believe.  At  the  end  of  a  week 
'the  motions  disappeared,'  as  Mrs.  Maginnis  expressed 
it." 

"  I  believe  it  isn't  uncommon  for  children  to  get  well 
of  Saint  Vitus's  dance,"  said  Millard. 

"  You  couldn't  make  Mrs.  Maginnis  believe  that.  She 
regards  it  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  cures  of  a  wholly 
incurable  ailment  ever  heard  of.  The  day  after  Phiilida's 


MRS.  HILBROUGH'S  INFORMATION.  237 

last  visit  she  sent  her  a  check  for  three  hundred  dollars 
for  her  services." 

"  Sent  her  money?"  said  Millard,  reddening,  and  con 
tracting  his  brows.  "  Did  Phillida  take  it  ?  "  This  last 
was  spoken  in  a  low-keyed  monotone. 

"  Hasn't  she  told  you  a  word  about  it?  " 
"  Not  a  word,"  said  Millard,  with  eyes  cast  down. 
"  She  sent  back  the  check  by  the  next  postman,  saying 
merely  that  it  was  '  respectfully  declined.' " 

"  And  Mrs.  Maginnis  ?  "  asked  Millard,  his  face  light 
ing  up. 

"  Didn't  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Hilbrough.  "  These 
brutally  rich  people  think  that  cash  will  pay  for  every 
thing,  you  know.  Mrs.  Maginnis  concluded  that  she  had 
offered  too  little." 

"  It  was  little  enough,"  said  Millard,  "  considering  her 
wealth  and  the  nature  of  the  service  she  believed  to  have 
been  rendered  to  her  child." 

"  She  thought  so  herself,  on  reflection,"  said  Mrs.  Hil 
brough.  "  She  also  had  grace  enough  to  remember  that 
she  might  have  been  a  little  more  delicate  in  her  way  of 
tendering  the  money.  She  likes  to  do  things  royally,  so 
she  dispatched  her  footman  to  Mrs.  Callender  with  a  note 
inclosing  a  check  for  a  thousand  dollars,  asking  the 
mother  to  use  it  for  the  benefit  of  her  daughter.  Mrs. 
Callender  took  the  check  to  Mrs.  Gouverneur,  and  asked 
her,  as  having  some  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Maginnis,  to 
explain  that  Phillida  could  not  accept  any  pay  for  re 
ligious  services  or  neighborly  kindness.  Mrs.  Gouver 
neur  " — here  Mrs.  Hilbrough  smiled — "  saw  the  ghosts 


238  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

of  her  grandfathers  looking  on,  I  suppose.  She  couched 
her  note  to  Mrs.  Maginnis  in  rather  chilling  terms,  and 
Mrs.  Maginnis  understood  at  last  that  she  had  probably 
given  offense.  She  went  to  Mrs.  Frankland,  who  referred 
her  to  me,  as  Phillida's  friend,  and  she  called  here  yes 
terday  in  a  flutter  of  hysterical  importance  to  get  me  to 
apologize,  and  to  ask  me  what  she  could  do." 

Millard  was  almost  amused  at  this  turn  in  the  affair, 
but  his  smile  had  a  tang  of  bitterness. 

"  She  explained  that  she  had  not  understood  that  Miss 
Callender  was  that  kind  of  person,"  said  Mrs.  Hilbrough. 
"  She  had  always  supposed  that  ministers  and  missionaries 
and  their  families  expected  presents.  When  she  was  a 
little  girl  her  father  used  to  send  a  whole  hog  to  each 
minister  in  the  village  every  fall  when  he  killed  his  pigs. 
But  it  seemed  Miss  Callender  and  her  mother  held  them 
selves  above  presents.  Were  they  'people  of  wealth'? 
That  is  her  favorite  phrase.  I  told  her  that  they  were 
one  of  the  best  old  families  in  the  city,  without  much 
property  but  with  a  great  deal  of  pride,  and  that  they 
were  very  admirable  people.  '  You  know,  these  very  old 
and  famous  families  hold  themselves  rather  above  the  rest 
of  us,  no  matter  how  rich  we  may  get  to  be,'  I  said,  mali 
ciously. 

"  This  seemed  almost  to  subdue  her.  She  said  that 
she  supposed  people  would  expect  her  to  do  something  at 
such  a  time.  It  was  always  expected  that  'people  of 
wealth'  should  show  themselves  grateful.  What  could 
she  do  that  would  not  offend  such  touchy  people  ? 

"  I  suggested  that  Hilda  should  buy  some  article,  not 


MRS.   HILBROTJGH'S  INFORMATION.  239 

too  expensive,  for  a  love  token  for  Miss  Callender.  *  Treat 
her  as  you  would  if  she  were  Mrs.  Van  Home's  daughter,' 
I  said,  '  and  she  will  be  content.'  '  I  don't  want  to  seem 
mean,'  she  replied,  *  and  I  didn't  think  so  pious  a  girl 
would  carry  her  head  so  high.  Now,  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  do 
you  think  a  Christian  girl  like  Miss  Callender  ought  to 
be  so  proud  ? '  '  Would  you  like  to  take  money  for  a 
friendly  service  ? '  I  asked.  '  Oh,  no  !  But  then  I — you 
see,  my  circumstances  are  different ;  however,  I  will  do 
just  what  you  say.'  I  warned  her  when  she  left  that  the 
present  must  not  be  too  costly,  and  that  Hilda  ought  to 
take  it  in  person.  She  was  still  a  little  puzzled.  '  I  didn't 
suppose  people  in  their  circumstances  would  feel  that 
way,'  she  said  in  a  half -subdued  voice,  '  but  I'll  do  just  as 
you  say,  Mrs.  Hilbrough.' v 

This  action  of  Phillida's  was  a  solace  to  Millard's 
pride.  But  one  grain  of  sugar  will  not  perceptibly 
sweeten  the  bitterness  of  a  decoction  of  gentian,  and  this 
overflow  into  uptown  circles  of  Phillida's  reputation  as  a 
faith-doctor  made  the  matter  extremely  humiliating. 

When  Mrs.  Hilbrough  had  finished  her  recital  Millard 
sat  a  minute  absorbed  in  thought.  It  occurred  to  him 
that  if  he  had  not  spoken  so  impetuously  to  Phillida  and 
then  left  her  so  abruptly  he  might  have  had  this  story  in 
her  own  version,  and  thus  have  spared  himself  the  im 
prudence  and  indecorum  of  discussing  Phillida  with  Mrs. 
Hilbrough.  But  he  could  not  refrain  from  making  the 
request  he  had  had  in  mind  when  he  came,  and  which 
alone  could  explain  and  justify  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough  his 
confidence. 


THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  I  came  here  to-day  on  an  impulse,"  he  said.  "  Know 
ing  your  friendliness  for  Phillida,  and  counting  on  your 
kindness,  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  bring  your  influ 
ence  to  bear — to — to — what  shall  I  say  ? — to  modify  Phil- 
lida's  zeal  and  render  her  a  little  less  sure  of  her  voca 
tion  to  pursue  a  course  that  must  make  her  talked  about 
in  a  way  that  is  certain  to  vulgarize  her  name." 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  shook  her  head.  She  was  nattered  by 
Millard's  confidence,  but  she  saw  the  difficulty  of  the  task 
he  had  set  for  her. 

"  Count  on  me  for  anything  I  qan  do,  but  that  is 
something  that  I  suppose  no  one  can  accomplish.  What 
Phillida  thinks  right  she  will  do  if  she  were  to  be  thrown 
to  the  wild  beasts  for  it." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  that  is  her  great  superiority,"  he  added, 
with  mingled  admiration  and  despondency. 

"  You,  who  have  more  influence  than  any  one  else," 
said  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  "  have  talked  with  her.  I  suppose 
her  mother  has  said  what  could  be  said,  and  Agatha  must 
have  been  a  perfect  thorn  in  the  flesh  to  her  since  the 
matter  became  known  at  home." 

"  Yes,"  said  Millard,  ruefully ;  "  she  must  have  suf 
fered  a  great  deal,  poor  child  ! " 

"  I  don't  suppose  Mrs.  Gouverneur  let  her  off  cheap 
ly,"  continued  Mrs.  Hilbrough.  "She  must  have  made 
Phillida  feel  that  she  was  overthrowing  the  statues  of  her 
great-grandfathers,  and  she  no  doubt  urged  the  unhappi- 
ness  she  would  cause  you." 

Millard  saw  at  this  moment  the  origin  of  Phillida's 
sensitiveness  in  talking  with  him. 


MRS.   HILBROUGH'S  INFORMATION.  241 

"  I  don't  care  for  myself,  but  I  wish  to  heaven  that  1 
could  shelter  her  a  little  from  the  ridicule  she  will  suffer." 
He  was  leaning  forward  with  his  hand  on  his  knee  and 
his  eyes  cast  down. 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  felt  herself  moved  at  sight  of  so  much 
feeling  in  one  not  wont  to  show  his  emotions  to  others. 

"  I  will  see  if  anything  can  be  done,  Mr.  Millard ;  but 
I  am  afraid  not.  I'll  ask  Phillida  here  to  lunch  some 
day  this  week." 

The  winter  sunshine  had  all  gone,  the  lights  in  the 
streets  were  winning  on  the  fast-fading  twilight,  and  Mrs. 
Hilbrough's  reception-room  was  growing  dusk  when  Mil- 
lard  slowly,  as  one  whose  purposes  are  benumbed,  rose  to 
leave.  Once  in  the  street,  he  walked  first  toward  one 
avenue  and  then  toward  the  other.  He  thought  to  go  to 
his  apartment,  but  he  shrank  from  loneliness ;  he  would 
go  to  dinner  at  a  neighboring  restaurant ;  then  he  turned 
toward  his  club  ;  and  then  he  formed  the  bold  resolu 
tion  to  make  himself  welcome,  as  he  had  before,  at  Mrs. 
Callender's  Sunday-evening  tea-table.  But  reflecting  on 
the  unlucky  outcome  of  his  interview  with  Phillida,  he 
gave  this  up,  and  after  some  further  irresolution  dined  at 
a  table  by  himself  in  the  club.  He  had  small  appetite 
for  food,  for  human  fellowship  he  had  none  at  all,  and  he 
soon  sought  solitude  in  his  apartment. 
16 


XXII. 

WINTER  STRAWBERRIES. 

that  Phillida  was  a  precipice  inaccessible 
on  the  side  of  what  she  esteemed  her  duty,  Mrs.  Hil- 
b rough  was  almost  sorry  that  she  had  promised  to  at 
tempt  any  persuasions.  But  she  dispatched  a  note  early 
Tuesday  morning,  begging  Phillida's  company  at  lunch 
eon,  assigning  the  trivial  reason,  for  want  of  a  better,  that 
she  had  got  some  winter-grown  strawberries  and  wished  a 
friend  to  enjoy  them  with  her.  Phillida,  fatigued  with 
the  heart-breaking  struggle  between  love  and  duty,  and 
almost  ready  sometimes  to  give  over  and  take  the  easier 
path,  thought  to  find  an  hour's  intermission  from  her 
inward  turmoil  over  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  hothouse  berries. 
The  Hilbrough  children  were  fond  of  Phillida,  and  lunch 
eon  was  a  meal  at  which  they  made  a  point  of  disregard 
ing  the  bondage  of  the  new  family  position.  They  sea 
soned  their  meal  with  the  animal  spirits  of  youth,  and, 
despite  the  fact  that  the  costly  winter  berries  were  rather 
sour,  the  lunch  proved  exceedingly  agreeable  to  Phillida. 
The  spontaneous  violence  which  healthy  children  do  to 
etiquette  often  proves  a  relish.  But  when  the  Hilbrough 
children  had  bolted  their  strawberries,  scraped  the  last 
remainder  of  the  sugar  and  cream  from  the  saucers,  and 


WINTER  STRAWBERRIES.  243 

left  the  table  in  a  hurry,  there  came  an  audible  pause, 
and  Mrs-  Hilbrougli  approached  the  subject  of  Phillida's 
faith-healing  in  a  characteristically  tactful  way  by  giving 
an  account  of  Mrs.  Maginuis's  call,  and  by  approving 
Phillida's  determination  not  to  take  money.  It  was  a 
laudable  pride,  Mrs.  Hilbrougli  said. 

"I  can  not  call  it  pride  altogether,"  said  Phillida, 
with  the  innate  veracity  of  her  nature  asserting  itself  in  a 
struggle  to  be  exactly  sincere.  "  If  I  were  to  take  pay  for 
praying  for  a  person,  I'd  be  no  better  than  Simon,  who 
tried  to  buy  the  gift  of  the  Holy  Ghost  from  Saint  Paul. 
I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  take  money." 

"And  if  you  did,  my  dear,  it  would  mortify  your 
family,  who  have  a  right  to  be  proud,  and  then  there  is 
Mr.  Millard,  who,  I  suppose,  would  feel  that  it  would  be 
a  lasting  disgrace."  These  words  were  spoken  in  a  re 
laxed  and  indifferent  tone,  as  though  it  was  an  accidental 
commonplace  of  the  subject  that  Mrs.  Hilbrougli  was 
settling. 

Phillida  said  nothing.  Here  she  was  face  to  face  with 
the  old  agony.  If  her  faith-healing  were  only  a  matter 
of  her  own  suffering  she  need  not  hesitate ;  she  would 
take  the  cross  with  all  her  heart.  But  Mrs.  Hilbrough's 
words  reminded  her  again  that  her  sense  of  duty  forced 
her  to  bind  Charley  Millard  for  the  torture.  A  duty  so 
rude  to  her  feelings  as  the  half-publicity  of  it  made  faith- 
healing,  ought  to  be  a  duty  beyond  question,  but  here 
was  the  obligation  she  owed  her  lover  running  adverse  to 
her  higher  aspirations.  The  questions  for  decision  be 
came  complex,  and  she  wavered. 


244  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

"  Your  first  duty  is  to  him,  of  course,"  continued  Mrs. 
Hilbrough,  as  she  rose  from  the  table,  but  still  in  an 
indifferent  tone,  as  though  what  she  said  were  a  prin 
ciple  admitted  beforehand.  This  arrow,  she  knew,  went 
straight  to  the  weakest  point  in  Phillida's  defense.  But 
divining  that  her  words  gave  pain,  she  changed  the  sub 
ject,  and  they  talked  again  on  indifferent  matters  as  they 
passed  out  of  the  room  together.  But  when  Phillida 
began  her  preparations  for  leaving,  Mrs.  Hilbrough  vent 
ured  a  practical  suggestion. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  forgive  an  old  friend  for  advising 
you,  Phillida  dear,  but  you  and  Mr.  Millard  ought  to  get 
married  pretty  soon.  I  don't  believe  in  long  courtships. 
Mr.  Millard  is  an  admirable  person,  and  you'll  make  a 
noble  wife." 

"  We  have  long  intended  to  have  the  wedding  next 
spring.  But  as  to  my  making  a  noble  wife,  I  am  not 
sure  about  that,"  returned  Phillida.  "  I  am  engaged 
with  my  work,  and  I  shall  be  more  and  more  talked  about 
in  a  way  that  will  give  Charley  a  great  deal  of  suffering. 
It's  a  pity—" 

She  was  going  to  say  that  it  was  a  pity  that  Charley 
had  not  chosen  some  one  who  would  not  be  a  source  of 
humiliation  to  him,"  but  she  could  not  complete  the  sen 
tence.  The  vision  of  Millard  married  to  another  was  too 
much  even  for  her  self-sacrifice.  After  a  moment's  pause 
she  reverted  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  remark,  made  at  the 
table,  which  had  penetrated  to  her  conscience. 

"  You  said  a  while  ago  that  my  first  duty  is  to  Char 
ley.  But  if  I  am  wrong  in  trying  to  heal  the  sick  by  the 


WINTER  STRAWBERRIES.  245 

exercise  of  faith,  why  have  I  been  given  success  in  some 
cases  ?  If  I  refused  requests  of  that  kind  would  I  not  be 
like  the  man  who  put  his  hand  to  the  plow  and  looked 
back  ?  You  don't  know  how  hard  it  is  to  decide  these 
things.  I  do  look  back,  and  it  almost  breaks  my  heart. 
Sometimes  I  say,  '  Why  can't  I  be  a  wroman  ?  Why  am  I 
not  free  to  enjoy  life  as  other  women  do  ?  But  then  the 
poor  and  the  sick  and  the  wicked,  are  they  to  be  left 
without  any  one  to  care  for  them  ?  There  are  but  few 
that  know  how  to  be  patient  with  them  and  help  them 
by  close  sympathy  and  forbearance.  How  can  I  give  up 
my  poor?'" 

Her  face  was  flushed,  and  she  was  in  a  tremor  when 
she  ceased  speaking.  Her  old  friend  saw  that  Phillida 
had  laid  bare  her  whole  heart.  Mrs.  Hilbrough  was 
deeply  touched  at  this  exhibition  of  courage  and  at  Phil- 
lida's  evident  suffering,  and  besides,  she  knew  that  it  was 
not  best  to  debate  where  she  wished  to  influence.  She 
only  said  : 

"  It  will  grow  clearer  to  you,  dear,  as  time  goes  on. 
Mr.  Millard  would  suffer  anything — I  believe  he  would 
die  for  you." 

Phillida  was  a  little  startled  at  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  as 
sumption  that  she  knew  the  exact  state  of  Millard 's  feelings. 

"  Have  you  seen  him  lately?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes ;  he  called  here  after  four  o'clock  on  Sunday 
afternoon,  and  he  spoke  most  affectionately  of  you.  I'm 
sorry  you  must  go  so  soon.  Come  and  spend  a  day  with 
me  some  time,  and  I'll  have  Mr.  Millard  take  dinner 
with  us." 


246  THE   FAITH    DOCTOR. 

As  Phillida  rode  downtown  in  the  street  car  she  rea 
soned  that  Charley  must  have  gone  straight  to  Mrs.  Hil- 
brough's  after  his  conversation  with  her.  When  she  re 
membered  the  agitation  in  which  he  had  left  her,  she  could 
not  doubt  that  he  went  uptown  on  purpose  to  speak  with 
Mrs.  Hilbrough  of  his  relations  with  herself,  and  she  felt 
a  resentment  that  Millard  should  discuss  the  matter  with 
a  third  person.  He  had  no  doubt  got  Mrs.  Maginnis's 
story  from  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  and  for  this  she  partly  re 
proached  her  own  lack  of  frankness.  She  presently  asked 
herself  what  Charley's  call  on  Mrs.  Hilbrough  had  to  do 
with  the  luncheon  to  which  she  had  just  been  invited? 
The  more  she  thought  of  it,  the  more  she  felt  that  there 
had  been  a  plan  to  influence  her.  She  did  not  like  to  be 
the  subject  of  one  of  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  clever  maneuvers 
at  the  suggestion  of  her  lover.  The  old  question  rose 
again  whether  she  and  Charley  could  go  on  in  this  way ; 
whether  it  might  not  be  her  duty  to  release  him  from  an 
engagement  that  could  only  make  him  miserable. 

He  called  that  evening  while  the  Callenders  were  at 
six  o'clock  dinner.  He  was  in  evening  dress,  on  the  way 
to  dine  at  the  house  of  a  friend,  and  he  went  straight  to 
the  Callender  basement  dining-room,  where  he  chatted  as 
much  with  Mrs.  Callender  and  Agatha  as  with  Phillida, 
who  on  her  part  could  not  show  her  displeasure  before 
the  others,  for  lovers'  quarrels  are  too  precious  to  be 
shared  with  the  nearest  friend.  He  left  before  the  dinner 
was  over,  so  that  Phillida  did  not  have  a  moment  alone 
with  him.  The  next  evening  she  expected  him  to  call, 
but  he  only  sent  her  a  bunch  of  callas. 


WINTER  STRAWBERRIES.  247 

That  night  Phillida  sat  by  the  fire  sewing  after  her 
mother  and  Agatha  were  asleep.  During  the  past  two 
days  she  had  wrought  herself  up  to  a  considerable  pitch 
of  indignation  against  Millard  for  trying  to  influence  her 
through  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  but  resentment  was  not  con 
genial  to  her.  Millard's  effort  to  change  her  purposes  at 
least  indicated  an  undiminished  affection.  The  bunch  of 
flowers  on  the  table  was  a  silent  pleader.  If  he  did 
wrong  in  going  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough  for  advice,  might  it 
not  be  her  own  fault?  Why  had  she  not  been  more 
patient  with  him  on  Sunday  afternoon?  The  callas  were 
so  white,  they  reminded  her  of  Charley,  she  thought,  for 
they  were  clean,  innocent,  and  of  graceful  mien.  After 
all,  here  was  one  vastly  dearer  to  her  than  those  for  whom 
she  labored  and  prayed — one  whose  heart  and  happiness 
lay  in  her  very  palm.  Might  she  not  soften  her  line  of 
action  somewhat  for  his  sake? 

But  conscience  turned  the  glass,  and  she  remembered 
Wilhelmina,  and  thought  of  the  happiness  of  little  Hilda 
Maginnis  and  her  mother.  Was  it  nothing  that  God  had 
endowed  her  with  this  beneficent  power?  How  could 
she  shrink  from  the  blessedness  of  dispensing  the  divine 
mercy?  Her  imagination  took  flame  at  the  vision  of  a 
life  of  usefulness  and  devotion  to  those  who  were  suffer 
ing. 

Then  she  raised  her  head  and  there  were  the  white 
flowers.  She  felt  an  impulse  to  kiss  her  hand  in  good 
night  to  them  as  she  rose  from  her  chair,  but  such  an 
act  would  have  seemed  foolish  to  one  of  her  tempera 
ment. 


24:8  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

She  went  to  bed  in  doubt  and  got  up  in  perplexity. 
She  could  not  help  looking  forward  to  Mrs.  Frankland's 
Bible-reading  that  afternoon  with  expectation  that  some 
message  would  be  providentially  sent  for  her  guidance. 
The  spirit  perplexed  is  ever  superstitious.  Since  so  many 
important  decisions  in  life  must  be  made  blindly,  one 
does  not  wonder  that  primitive  men  settled  dark  ques 
tions  by  studying  the  stars,  by  interpreting  the  flight  of 
birds,  the  whimsical  zigzags  of  the  lightning  bolt,  or  the 
turning  of  the  beak  of  a  fowl  this  way  or  that  in  picking 
corn.  The  human  mind  bewildered  is  ever  looking  for 
crevices  in  the  great  mystery  that  inwraps  the  visible  uni 
verse,  and  ever  hoping  that  some  struggling  beam  from 
beyond  may  point  to  the  best  path. 


XXIII. 
A  SHINING  EXAMPLE. 

MRS.  HILBROUGH  and  Phillida  Callender  sat  together 
that  day  at  Mrs.  Frankland's  readings  and  heard  her  with 
very  different  feelings  discourse  of  discipleship,  culling 
texts  from  various  parts  of  the  four  gospels  to  set  forth 
the  courage  and  self-denial  requisite  and  the  consolation 
and  splendid  rewards  that  awaited  such  as  were  really 
disciples.  Now  that  she  had  undertaken  to  look  after 
Phillida  in  the  interest  of  Millard,  Mrs.  Hilbrough  trem 
bled  at  the  extreme  statements  that  Mrs.  Frankland 
allowed  herself  to  make  in  speaking  of  self-denial  as  the 
crowning  glory  of  the  highest  type  of  discipleship.  The 
speaker  was  incapable  of  making  allowance  for  oriental 
excess  in  Bible  language ;  it  suited  her  position  as  an 
advocate  to  take  the  hyperbolic  words  of  Jesus  in  an 
occidental  literalness.  But  Mrs.  Hilbrough  thought  her 
most  dangerous  when  she  came  to  cite  instances  of  almost 
inconceivable  self-sacrifice  from  Christian  biography.  The 
story  of  Francis  of  Assisi  defending  himself  against  the 
complaint  of  his  father  by  disrobing  in  the  presence  of 
the  judge  and  returning  into  his  father's  hands  the  last 
thread  of  raiment  bought  with  the  father's  money  that  he 
might  free  himself  from  the  parental  claim,  was  likely  to 


250  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

excite  a  Platonic  admiration  in  the  minds  of  Mrs.  Van 
Home's  friends,  but  such  sublime  self-sacrifice  is  too  far 
removed  from  prevailing  standards  to  be  dangerous  in 
New  York.  Mrs.  Frankland  no  more  expected  her  hear 
ers  to  emulate  St.  Francis  than  she  dreamed  of  refusino- 

o 

anything  beautiful  herself.  But  Mrs.  Hilbrough  knew 
Phillida,  and,  having  known  the  spirit  that  was  in  her 
father,  she  was  able  to  measure  pretty  accurately  the  tre 
mendous  effect  of  this  mode  of  speech  upon  her  in  her 
present  state  of  mind.  While  the  address  went  on  Mrs. 
Hilbrough  planned.  She  reflected  that  Mrs.  Frankland's 
influence  could  only  be  counteracted  by  the  orator  her 
self.  Could  she  not  talk  confidentially  with  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  and  make  her  see  the  necessity  for  moderating 
Phillida's  tendency  to  extreme  courses  of  action?  But 
when  she  tried  to  fancy  Mrs.  Frankland  counseling  mod 
eration  in  an  address,  she  saw  the  impossibility  of  it. 
Prudence  makes  poor  woof  for  oratory.  It  would  "  throw 
a  coldness  over  the  meeting,"  as  the  negroes  express  it, 
for  her  to  attempt  to  moderate  the  zeal  of  her  disciples; 
the  more  that  exhortations  to  moderation  were  what  they 
seemed  least  to  require.  Another  alternative  presented 
itself.  She  would  appeal  from  Mrs.  Frankland  public  to 
Mrs.  Frankland  private,  from  the  orator  aflame  to  the 
woman  cool.  If  Mrs.  Frankland  could  be  rightly  coached 
and  guided,  she  might  by  private  conversation  with  Phil 
lida  counteract  the  evil  wrought  by  her  public  speech. 

Mrs.  Hilbrough's  state  of  antagonism  continued  to  the 
very  close  of  the  address,  and  then  while  many  were 
thanking  and  congratulating  the  speaker,  and  receiving 


A   SHINING   EXAMPLE.  251 

the  greetings  she  gave  with  ever-fresh  effusiveness,  Mrs. 
Hilbrough  came  in  her  turn,  and  Mrs.  Frankland  ex 
tended  both  hands  to  her,  saying,  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Hil 
brough,  how  are  you?"  But  Mrs.  Hilbrough  did  not 
offer  her  any  congratulations.  She  only  begged  Mrs. 
Frankland  to  make  an  appointment  that  she  might  con 
sult'  her  on  a  matter  of  importance. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  dear  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Frank- 
land,  beaming ;  "  ivhenever  you  wish  and  wherever  you 
say." 

"  Perhaps  you  could  drive  with  me  in  the  Park  to 
morrow,  if  the  weather  is  fine,"  said  Mrs.  Hilbrough. 
"  Shall  I  call  for  you  about  half-past  three  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,  Mrs.  Hilbrough  " ;  and  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  made  an  affectionate  farewell  nod  backward  at  Mrs. 
Hilbrough  as  she  stretched  out  her  hand  to  one  of  her 
hearers  who  was  waiting  on  the  other  side  for  a  share  of 
her  sunshine. 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  turned  about  at  this  moment  to  find 
Phillida,  meaning  to  take  her  home  in  the  carriage,  but 
Phillida,  engrossed  with  thoughts  and  feelings  excited  by 
the  address,  had  slipped  away  and  taken  the  Madison 
Avenue  car. 

She  had  counted  that  this  address  would  give  her  per 
sonal  guidance ;  she  had  prayed  that  it  might  throw  light 
on  her  path.  Its  whole  tenor  brought  to  her  conscience 
the  sharpest  demand  that  she  should  hold  to  the  rigor 
of  her  vocation  at  every  cost.  All  the  way  home  the  text 
about  leaving  "  father,  or  mother,  or  wife,  or  children,  or 
lands,  for  my  sake,"  was  ringing  in  her  memory.  Even 


252  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

Mrs.  Frankland,  in  the  rush  of  oratorical  extravagance, 
had  not  dared  to  give  this  its  literal  sense.  But  she  had 
left  in  it  strenuousness  enough  to  make  it  a  powerful 
stimulant  to  Phillida's  native  impulse  toward  self-sacri 
fice. 

Once  at  home,  Phillida  could  not  remain  there.  She 
felt  that  a  crisis  in  her  affairs  had  arrived,  and  in  her 
present  state  of  religious  exaltation  she  was  equal  to  the 
task  of  giving  up  her  lover  if  necessary.  But  the  ques 
tions  before  her  were  not  simple,  and  before  deciding  she 
thought  to  go  and  privately  consult  Mrs.  Frankland,  who 
lived  less  than  half  a  mile  away  in  one  of  those  habitable, 
small  high-stoop  houses  in  East  Fifteenth  street  which 
one  is  surprised  to  find  lingering 'so  far  down  as  this  into 
the  epoch  of  complicated  flats  and  elevated  apartments. 

Phillida  was  begged  to  come  without  ceremony  up  to 
the  front  room  on  the  second  floor.  Here  she  found  Mrs. 
Frankland  in  a  wrapper,  lying  on  a  lounge,  her  face  still 
flushed  by  the  excitement  of  her  speech. 

"  Dear  child,  how  are  you  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Frankland  in 
a  tone  of  semi-exhaustion,  reaching  out  her  hand,  with 
out  rising.  "  Sit  here  by  me.  It  is  a  benediction  to  see 
you.  To  you.  is  given  the  gift  of  faith.  The  gift  of 
healing  and  such  like  ministration  is  not  mine.  I  can 
not  do  the  work  you  do.  But  if  I  can  comfort  and 
strengthen  those  chosen  ones  who  have  these  gifts,  it  is 
enough.  I  will  not  complain."  Saying  this  last  plain 
tively,  she  pressed  Phillida's  hand  in  both  of  hers. 

If  her  profession  of  humility  was  not  quite  sincere, 
Mrs.  Frankland  at  least  believed  that  it  was. 


A  SHINING  EXAMPLE.  253 

"  Mrs.  Frankland,  I  am  in  trouble,  in  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,"  said  Phillida  in  a  voice  evidently  steadied  by 
effort. 

"In  trouble?  I  am  so  sorry."  Saying  this  she  laid 
her  right  hand  on  Phillida's  lap  caressingly.  "  Tell  me, 
beloved,  what  it  is  all  about?"  Mrs.  Frankland  was  still 
in  a  state  of  stimulation  from  public  speaking,  and  her 
words  were  pitched  in  the  key  of  a  peroration.  At  this 
moment  she  would  probably  have  spoken  with  pathos  if 
she  had  been  merely  giving  directions  for  cooking  the 
dinner  spinach. 

The  barriers  of  Phillida's  natural  reserve  were  melted 
away  by  her  friend's  effusive  sympathy,  and  the  weary 
heart  lightened  its  burdens,  as  many  another  had  done 
before,  by  confessing  them  to  the  all-motherly  Mrs. 
Frankland.  Phillida  told  the  story  of  her  lover,  of  his 
dislike  to  the  notoriety  of  her  faith-cures.  She  told  of 
her  own  struggles  and  of  the  grave  questions  she  might 
soon  have  to  settle.  Should  she  yield,  if  ever  so  little,  to 
the  demands  of  one  who  was  to  be  her  husband?  Or 
should  she  maintain  her  course  as  she  had  begun  ?  And 
what  if  it  should  ever  come  to  be  a  question  of  breaking 
her  engagement?  This  last  was  spoken  with  faltering, 
for  at  the  very  suggestion  Phillida  saw  the  abyss  open 
before  her. 

A  person  of  Mrs.  Frankland's  temperament  is  rarely 
a  good  counselor  in  practical  affairs,  but  if  she  had  been 
entirely  at  herself  she  would  perhaps  have  advised  with 
caution,  if  not  with  wisdom,  in  a  matter  so  vital  and  deli 
cate.  But  the  exhilaration  of  oratorical  inebriety  still 


254:  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

lingered  with  her,  and  she  heard  Phillida  professionally 
rather  than  personally.  She  was  hardly  conscious,  in 
deed,  of  the  personality  of  the  suffering  soul  before  her. 
What  she  perceived  was  that  here  was  a  new  and  beauti 
ful  instance  of  the  victory  of  faith  and  a  consecrated 
spirit.  In  her  present  state  of  mind  she  listened  to  Phil- 
lida's  experience  with  much  the  feeling  she  would  have 
had  if  some  one  had  brought  her  a  story  of  martyrdom 
in  the  days  of  Nero.  St.  Francis  himself  was  hardly 
finer  than  this,  and  the  glory  of  this  instance  was  that  it 
was  so  modern  and  withal  so  romantic  in  its  elements. 
She  exulted  in  the  struggle,  without  realizing,  as  she 
might  have  done  in  a  calmer  mood,  the  vast  perspective  of 
present  and  future  sorrow  which  it  presented  to  Phillida. 
The  disclosure  of  Phillida's  position  opened  up  not  the 
modicum  of  practical  wisdom  which  she  possessed  but  the 
floodgates  of  her  eloquence. 

"  You  will  stand  fast,  my  dear,"  she  said,  rising  to  a 
sitting  posture  and  flushing  with  fresh  interest.  "You 
will  be  firm.  You  will  not  shrink  from  your  duty." 

"  But  what  is  my  duty  ?  "  asked  Phillida. 

"  To  give  the  Lord  and  his  work  no  second  place  in 
your  affections.  He  has  honored  your  faith  and  works 
above  those  of  other  people.  Therefore  stand  unfalter 
ingly  faithful,  my  dear  Phillida.  It  is  a  hard  saying,  that 
of  Christ :  '  If  any  man  come  to  me,  and  hate  not  his 
father,  and  mother,  and  wife,  and  children,  and  brethren, 
and  sisters,  yea,  and  his  own  life  also,  he  can  not  be  my 
disciple.'  But  you  are  one  of  those  able  to  receive  the 
hard  words  of  Christ." 


A   SHINING  EXAMPLE.  255 

All  this  was  said  as  it  might  have  been  in  an  address, 
with  little  realization  of  its  application  to  the  individual 
case  before  her.  Mrs.  Frankland  would  have  been  the 
last  person  to  advise  an  extreme  course  of  action.  She 
admired  the  extravagance  of  religious  devotion  for  its 
artistic  effect  when  used  in  oratory.  It  was  the  artistic 
effect  she  was  dreaming  of  now.  Phillida  got  little  from 
her  but  such  generalities,  pitched  in  the  key  of  her  re 
cent  address ;  but  what  she  got  tended  to  push  her  to  yet 
greater  extremes. 

In  the  hour  that  followed,  Phillida's  habitually  strenu 
ous  spirit  resolved  and  held  itself  ready  for  any  surrender 
that  might  be  demanded  of  it.  Is  the  mistaken  soul  that 
makes  sacrifice  needlessly  through  false  perceptions  of 
duty  intrinsically  less  heroic  than  the  wiser  martyr  for  a 
worthy  cause? 


XXIV. 

THE  PARTING. 

OK  that  Thursday  evening  Millard  dined  at  his  club. 
Instead  of  signing  a  joint  order  with  a  friend  for  a  part 
nership  dinner,  he  ordered  and  ate  alone.  He  chose  a 
table  in  a  deep  window  from  which  he  could  look  out  on 
the  passers-by.  A  rain  had  set  in,  and  he  watched  the 
dripping  umbrellas  that  glistened  in  the  lamplight  as 
they  moved  under  the  windows,  and  took  note  of  the 
swift  emergence  of  approaching  vehicles  and  then  of 
their  disappearance.  His  interest  in  the  familiar  street- 
world  was  insipid  enough,  but  even  an  insipid  interest  in 
external  affairs  he  found  better  than  giving  his  mind  up 
wholly  to  the  internal  drizzle  of  melancholy  thoughts. 

Presently  Millard  became  dimly  conscious  of  a  famil 
iar  voice  in  conversation  at  the  table  in  the  next  window. 
Though  familiar,  the  voice  was  not  associated  with  the 
club-restaurant ;  it  must  be  that  of  some  non-member 
brought  in  as  the  dinner-guest  of  a  member.  He  could 
not  make  out  at  first  whose  it  was  without  changing  his 
position,  which  he  disliked  to  do,  the  more  that  the  voice 
excited  disagreeable  feelings,  and  by  some  association  not 
sufficiently  distinct  to  enable  him  to  make  out  the  person. 
But  when  the  visitor,  instead  of  leaving  the  direction  of 


THE  PARTING.  257 

the  meal  to  his  host,  called  oat  an  exasperatingly  impera 
tive,  "  Hist !  waitah  !  "  Millard  was  able  to  recognize  his 
invisible  neighbor.  Why  should  any  member  of  a  club 
so  proper  as  the  Terrapin  ask  Meadows  ?  But  there  he 
was  with  his  inborn  relish  for  bulldozing  whatever  bull- 
dozable  creature  came  in  his  way.  Once  he  had  made 
him  out,  Millard  engaged  in  a  tolerably  successful  effort 
to  ignore  his  conversation,  returning  again  to  his  poor 
diversion  of  studying  the  people  plashing  disconsolately 
along  the  wet  street.  It  was  only  when  he  heard  Mead 
ows  say,  "  You  know  I  am  a  director  of  that  bank,"  that 
his  attention  was  sharply  arrested. 

"  Farnsworth  is  cashier,"  continued  Meadows.  "  He 
ought  to  have  resigned  long  ago,  but  he  isn't  that  sort  of 
a  man.  So  he's  at  last  taken  to  bed,  has  he  ?  Some  com 
plication  of  the  heart,  I  believe.  Won't  live  long,  and — 
well,  I'll  have  on  hand  a  hard  fight  about  the  filling  of 
his  place.  But  I  didn't  hear  of  that  faith-doctor  plan 
before." 

"  I  don't  believe  they've  carried  it  out,"  said  the  club 
man  who  had  invited  Meadows  and  who  was  a  stranger  to 
Millard.  "  Farnsworth  wouldn't  agree.  I  used  to  dine 
with  Farnsworth  often,  and  my  sister  knows  Mrs.  Farns 
worth  ;  they  go  to  the  same  church.  Mrs.  Farnsworth 
has  heard  of  a  Miss  Callender  that  can  pray  a  person  up 
out  of  the  grave  almost,  and  she's  nearly  persuaded  Farns 
worth  to  send  for  her.  His  mind  is  weakening  a  little, 
and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  did  consent  to  have  her  pray 
over  him.  The  doctors  have  given  him  up,  and — " 

"  Who  is  this  Miss  Callender  ?  "  interrupted  Meadows ; 
17 


258  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

arid  though  Millard  could  not  see  him  he  knew  that  in 
the  very  nature  of  things  Meadows's  pugnacious  chin  must 
be  shoved  forward  as  he  asked  this. 

"  She's  a  young  woman  that  won't  take  any  money  for 
her  services.  That's  the  greatest  miracle  of  all,"  said  the 
other.  "  If  anything  could  make  me  believe  her  mission 
supernatural,  it  would  be  that." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  said  Meadows ;  "  don't  you  be 
lieve  a  word  of  it.  The  dead  may  be  raised,  but  not  for 
nothing.  There's  money  below  it  all.  Money  makes  the 
mare  go " ;  and  Meadows  laughed  complacently  at  the 
proverb,  giving  himself  credit  for  it  with  a  notion  that 
adopted  wit  was  as  good  as  the  native  born. 

"  No ;  she  won't  have  it.  I  heard  that  Mrs.  Maginnis 
sent  her  a  check  for  curing  her  little  girl,  and  that  she 
sent  it  back." 

"  Wasn't  enough,"  sneered  Meadows. 

"  Well,  I  believe  they  tried  a  larger  check  with  the 
same  result.  She  doesn't  seem  to  be  an  impostor ;  only  a 
crank." 

"  These,  people  that  refuse  money  when  it's  pushed 
under  their  noses  are  the  worst  knaves  of  all,"  said  Mead 
ows.  "  She  knows  that  Maginnis  is  very  rich.  She's 
laying  for  something  bigger.  She'll  get  into  Mrs.  Magin 
nis  for  something  handsome.  More  fool  if  she  doesn't,  I 
say  " ;  and  Meadows  laughed  in  an  unscrupulous,  under- 
breath  fashion,  as  of  a  man  who  thought  a  well-played 
trick  essentially  meritorious.  »• 

Millard  was  debating.  Should  he  protest  against  these 
words?  Or  should  he  knock  Meadows  down?  That  is 


THE  PARTING.  259 

not  just  the  form  it  took  in  his  mind.  Any  rowdy  or  a 
policeman  may  knock  a  man  down.  Your  man  of  fash 
ion,  when  he  wishes  to  punish  an  enemy  or  have  an  affray 
with  a  friend,  only  "  punches  his  head."  It  is  a  more 
precise  phrase,  and  has  no  boast  in  it.  No  one  knows 
which  may  go  down,  but  the  aggressor  feels  sure  that  he 
can  begin  by  punching  his  enemy's  head.  Millard  was 
on  the  point  of  rising  and  punching  Meadows's  head  in 
the  most  gentlemanly  fashion.  But  he  reflected  that  a 
head-punching  affray  with  Meadows  in  the  club-room 
would  make  Phillida  and  her  cures  the  talk  of  the  town, 
and  in  imagination  he  saw  a  horrible  vision  of  a  group 
of  newspaper  reporters  hovering  about  Mrs.  Callender's 
house,  and  trying  to  gain  some  information  about  the 
family  from  the  servant  girl  and  the  butcher  boy.  To 
protest,  to  argue,  to  say  anything  at  all,  would  be  but  an 
awful  aggravation.  Having  concluded  not  to  punch  the 
head  of  a  bank  director,  he  rose  from  the  table  himself, 
and,  avoiding  Meadows's  notice,  beckoned  the  waiter  to 
serve  his  coffee  in  the  reading-room.  When  he  had  swal 
lowed  the  coffee  he  rose  and  went  out.  As  he  stood  in 
the  door  of  the  club-house  and  buttoned  up  his  coat,  a 
cabman  from  the  street  called,  "  Kerrige,  sir  ? "  but  not 
knowing  where  he  should  go,  Millard  raised  his  umbrella 
and  walked.  Mechanically  he  went  toward  Mrs.  Callen 
der's.  He  had  formed  no  deliberate  resolution,  but  he 
became  aware  that  a  certain  purpose  had  taken  possession 
of  him  all  uninvited  and  without  any  approval  of  its  wis 
dom  on  his  part.  Right  or  wrong,  wise  or  unwise,  there 
was  that  which  impelled  him  to  lay  the  condition  of 


260  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

things  before  Phillida  in  all  its  repulsiveness  and  have  it 
out  with  her.  He  could  not  think  but  that  she  would 
recoil  if  she  knew  how  her  course  was  regarded.  He 
fancied  that  his  own  influence  with  her  would  be  domi 
nant  if  the  matter  were  brought  to  an  issue.  But  these 
considerations  aside,  there  was  that  which  impelled  him 
to  the  step  he  was  about  to  take.  In  crises  of  long  sup 
pressed  excitement  the  sanest  man  sometimes  finds  him 
self  bereft  of  the  power  of  choosing  his  line  of  action ; 
the  directing  will  seems  to  lie  outside  of  him.  It  is  not 
strange  that  a  Greek,  not  being  a  psychologist,  should 
say  that  a  Fate  was  driving  him  to  his  destiny,  or  that  his 
Daemon  had  taken  the  helm  and  was  directing  affairs  as  a 
sort  of  alter  ego. 

When  at  length  Millard  found  himself  in  front  of 
Mrs.  Callender's,  and  saw  by  the  light  that  the  family 
were  sitting  together  in  the  front  basement,  his  heart 
failed  him,  and  he  walked  past  the  house  and  as  far  as 
the  next  corner,  where  his  Fate,  his  Daemon,  his  blind 
impulsion,  turned  him  back,  and  he  did  not  falter  again 
until  he  had  rung  the  door-bell ;  and  then  it  was  too  late 
to  withdraw. 

"  You  are  wet,  Charley ;  sit  nearer  the  register,"  said 
Phillida,  when  she  saw  how  the  rain  had  beaten  upon  his 
trousers  and  how  recklessly  he  had  plunged  his  patent- 
leather  shoes  into  the  street  puddles.  This  little  atten 
tion  to  his  comfort  softened  Millard's  mood,  but  it  was 
impossible  long  to  keep  back  the  torrent  of  feeling.  Phil 
lida  was  alarmed  at  his  ominous  abstraction. 

"  I  don't  care  for  the  rain,"  he  said. 


THE  PARTING.  201 

"But  you  know  there  is  a  good  deal  of  pneumonia 
about." 

"  I — I  am  not  afraid  of  pneumonia,"  he  said.  "  I 
might  as  well  die  as  to  suffer  what  I  do." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Charley?  "  demanded  Phillida, 
alarmed. 

"  Matter  ?  Why,  I  have  to  sit  in  the  club  and  hear 
you  called  a  crank  and  an  impostor." 

Phillida  turned  pale. 

"  Vulgar  cads  like  Meadows,"  he  gasped,  "  not  fit  for 
association  with  gentlemen,  call  you  a  quack  seeking  after 
money,  and  will  not  be  set  right.  I  came  awfully  near  to 
punching  his  head." 

"  Why,  Charley  ! " 

"  I  should  have  done  it,  only  I  reflected  that  such  an 
affray  might  drag  you  into  the  newspapers.  I  tell  you, 
Phillida,  it  is  unendurable  that  you  should  go  on  in  this 
way." 

Phillida's  face  was  pale  as  death.  She  had  been  pray 
ing  all  the  afternoon  that  the  bitterness  of  this  cup  might 
not  be  pressed  to  her  lips.  She  now  saw  that  the  issue 
was  joined.  She  had  vowed  that  not  even  her  love  for 
the  man  dearest  to  her  should  swerve  her  from  her  course. 
The  abyss  was  under  her  feet,  and  she  longed  to  draw 
back.  She  heard  the  voice  of  duty  in  the  tones  of  Mrs. 
Frankland  saying :  "  If  any  man  come  to  me,  and  hate 
not  his  father,  and  mother,  and  wife,  and  children,  and 
brethren,  and  sisters,  yea,  and  his  own  life  also,  he  can 
not  be  my  disciple."  It  was  a  cruel  alternative  that  was 
set  before  her,  and  she  trembled  visibly. 


262  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

"  I — I  can't  neglect  what  I  believe  to  be  duty,"  she 
said.  She  wished  that,  by  some  circumlocution  or  some 
tenderness  in  the  tone,  she  could  have  softened  the  words 
that  she  spoke,  but  all  her  forces  had  to  be  rallied  to  utter 
the  decision,  and  there  was  no  power  left  to  qualify  the 
bare  words  which  sounded  to  Millard  hard  and  cruel.  A 
suspicion  crossed  his  mind  that  Phillida  wished  to  be 
released  from  the  engagement. 

"  You  do  not  consider  that  you  owe  any  duty  to  me  at 
all,"  he  said  in  a  voice  smothered  by  feeling. 

Phillida  tried  to  reply,  but  she  could  not  speak. 

Millard  was  now  pacing  the  floor.  "  It  is  all  that 
Mrs.  Frankland's  work.  She  isn't  worthy  to  tie  your 
shoes.  She  never  fed  the  hungry,  or  clothed  the  naked, 
or  visited  the  sick.  It's  all  talk,  talk,  talk,  with  her. 
She  talks  beautifully,  and  she  knows  it.  She  loves  to  talk 
and  to  have  people  crowd  around  her  and  tell  her  how 
much  good  she  is  doing.  She  denies  herself  nothing ; 
she  feeds  her  vanity  on  the  flattery  she  gets,  and  then 
thinks  herself  a  saint  besides.  She  exhorts  people  to  a 
self-sacrifice  she  wouldn't  practise  for  the  world.  She's 
making  more  money  out  of  her  piety  than  her  husband 
can  out  of  law.  And  now  she  comes  with  her  foolish  talk 
and  breaks  up  the  happiness  you  and  I  have  had."  This 
was  spoken  with  bitterness.  "  "We  can  not  go  on  in  this 
way,"  khe  said,  sitting  down  exhausted,  and  looking  at 
her. 

Phillida  had  listened  in  silence  and  anguish  to  his 
words,  spoken  hurriedly  but  not  loudly.  What  he  said 
had  an  effect  the  opposite  of  what  he  had  expected.  The 


THE   PARTING.  263 

first  impression  produced  by  his  words  was  that  the  en 
gagement  had  become  a  source  of  misery  to  Millard ;  the 
second  thought  was  that,  considering  only  her  duty  to 
him,  she  ought  to  release  him  from  bonds  that  had  proved 
so  painful.  His  last  words  seemed  to  indicate  that  he 
wished  the  engagement  broken,  and  after  what  he  had 
said  it  was  evident  that  she  must  break  with  him  or 
swerve  from  the  duty  she  had  vowed  never  to  desert. 
Taking  up  the  word  where  he  had  left  off,  she  said  in  a 
low,  faltering  voice : 

"  We  certainly  can  not  go  on  in  this  way." 
Then,  rising,  she  turned  to  the  antique  desk  in  the 
corner  of  the  parlor.  With  a  key  from  her  pocket  she 
unlocked  a  drawer,  and  from  it  took  hurriedly  every  keep 
sake  she  had  had  from  her  lover,  not  allowing  herself  to 
contemplate  them,  but  laying  them  all  at  last  on  the 
ancient  center-table  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  With  a 
twinge  of  regret,  visible  to  Millard,  she  drew  her  engage 
ment  ring  from  her  finger,  and  with  an  unsteady  hand 
laid  it  softly  down  with  the  rest. 

Millard  was  too  much  startled  at  first  to  know  what  to 
say.  Had  she  misunderstood  the  intent  of  his  last  re 
mark  ?  Or  did  she  wish  to  be  released  ? 

"  It  is  all  over,  Mr.  Millard.     Take  them,  please." 

«  I I  have  not — asked  you  to  release  me,  Phillida." 

"  You  have  said  that  we  can  not  go  on  in  this  way.  I 
say  the  same.  It — "  she  could  not  speak  for  a  quarter  of 
a  minute ;  then  she  slowly  finished  her  sentence  with  an 
effort  of  desperation  and  without  raising  her  eyes  to  his — 
"  it  is  better  that  it  is  over  " 


264:  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR 

"Is  it  over?"  he  asked,  stunned.  "Think  what  you 
say." 

"We  have  agreed  that  we  can  not  go  on,"  she  an 
swered.  "  You  must  take  these.  I  can  not  keep  them." 

"  Don't  make  me  take  them.     Why  not  keep  them? " 

"  I  will  send  them  to-morrow.  I  can  not  retain 
them." 

Millard  could  not  take  them.  He  would  have  felt 
much  as  he  might  in  rifling  a  grave  of  its  treasures  had 
he  lifted  those  tokens  from  the  table.  But  he  saw,  or 
thought  he  saw,  that  remonstrances  might  make  Phillida 
more  unhappy,  but  that  it  would  be  perfectly  useless.  It 
was  better  to  accept  his  fate,  and  forbear.  He  tried  to 
say  something  to  soften  the  harshness  of  parting,  but  his 
powers  of  thought  and  speech  deserted  him,  and  he  knew 
that  whatever  he  would  say  must  be  put  into  one  or  two 
words.  He  looked  up,  hesitatingly  stretched  out  his 
hand,  and  asked  huskily  : 

"Part  friends?" 

Phillida,  pale  and  speechless,  took  his  hand  a  moment, 
and  then  he  went  out.  She  leaned  her  head  against  the 
window-jamb,  lifted  the  shade,  and  watched  his  form 
retreating  through  the  drizzly  night  until  he  disappeared 
from  view,  and  then  she  turned  out  the  lights.  But 
instead  of  returning  to  her  mother  and  Agatha  in  the 
basement,  she  threw  herself  on  the  floor,  resting  her  arms 
on  the  sofa  while  she  sobbed  in  utter  wretchedness.  All 
her  courage  was  spent ;  all  her  faith  had  fled ;  helpless, 
wounded,  wretched  as  a  soul  in  bottomless  perdition,  she 
could  see  neither  life  nor  hope  iu  any  future  before  her. 


THE  PARTING.  265 

She  had  believed  herself  able  to  go  on  alone  and  to  bear 
any  sacrifice.  But  in  losing  him  she  had  lost  even  the 
power  to  pray. 

About  an  hour  after  Millard's  departure,  Mrs.  Callen- 
der  came  up  the  stairs  and  called  gently : 

"  Phillida ! " 

Then  she  entered  the  parlor.  The  shutters  were  not 
closed,  and  the  room  was  faintly  lighted  by  rays  that  came 
through  the  shades  from  the  lamp  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street. 

"  I'm  here,  mother,"  said  Phillida,  rising  and  coming 
toward  her.  Then,  embracing  her  mother,  she  said, 
"  And  I'm  so  unhappy,  mother,  so  utterly  wretched." 

Such  an  appeal  for  sympathy  on  the  part  of  the 
daughter  was  an  occurrence  almost  unknown.  She  had 
been  the  self-reliant  head  of  the  family,  but  now  she 
leaned  helplessly  upon  her  mother  and  whispered,  "  It's 
all  over  between  Charley  and  me." 


XXV. 

MRS.  FRANKLAND'S  REPENTANCE. 

FOR  some  time  after  Phillida  had  left  Mrs.  Frankland 
resting  on  the  lounge  that  lady  had  felt  an  additional 
exaltation  in  contemplating  this  new  and  admirable  in 
stance  of  faith  and  devotion — an  instance  that  seemed  to 
owe  much  to  the  influence  of  her  own  teachings.  Her 
mind  had  toyed  with  it  as  a  brilliant  having  many 
facets.  She  had  unconsciously  reduced  it  to  words ;  she 
could  only  get  the  virtue  out  of  anything  when  she 
had  phrased  it.  Phillida  she  had  abstracted  into  a 
"  young  woman  of  a  distinguished  family,"  "  beautiful 
as  the  day,"  "  who  had  all  the  advantages  of  high  asso 
ciations,"  and  "who  might  have  filled  to  the  brim  the 
cup  of  social  enjoyment."  The  lover,  whose  name  and 
circumstances  she  did  not  know,  she  yet  set  up  in  her 
mind  as  "an  accomplished  young  man  of  splendid  gifts 
and  large  worldly  expectations."  It  would  have  been  a 
serious  delinquency  in  him  had  he  failed  to  answer  to  this 
personal  description,  for  how  else  could  this  glorious  in 
stance  be  rounded  into  completeness?  Incapable  of  in 
tentional  misrepresentation,  Mrs.  Frankland  could  never 
help  believing  that  the  undisclosed  portion  of  any  narra 
tive  conformed  to  the  exigencies  of  artistic  symmetry  and 


MRS.   FRANKLAND'S  REPENTANCE.  267 

picturesque  effect.  She  set  the  story  of  Phillida's  sacri 
fice  before  her  now  in  one  and  now  in  another  light,  and 
found  in  contemplating  it  much  exhilaration — spiritual 
joy  and  gratitude  in  her  phraseology.  How  charmingly 
it  would  fit  into  an  address  ! 

But  as  the  hours  wore  on  the  excitement  of  her  ora 
torical  effort  subsided  and  a  natural  physical  reaction  be 
gan.  Her  pulses,  which  had  been  beating  so  strenuously 
as  to  keep  her  brain  in  a  state  of  combustion,  were  now 
correspondingly  below  their  normal  fullness  and  rapidity, 
and  the  exhausted  nerves  demanded  repose.  It  was  at 
such  times  as  these  that  Mrs.  Frankland's  constitutional 
buoyancy  of  spirit  sank  down  on  an  ebb  tide ;  it  was  at 
such  times  that  her  usually  sunny  temper  chafed  under 
the  irritations  of  domestic  affairs.  On  this  evening,  when 
the  period  of  depression  set  in,  Mrs.  Frankland's  view  of 
Phillida's  case  suffered  a  change.  She  no  longer  saw  it 
through  the  iridescent  haze  of  excited  fancy.  She  began 
to  doubt  whether  it  was  best  that  Phillida  should  break 
with  her  lover  for  the  mere  sake  of  being  a  shining  ex 
ample.  In  this  mood  Mrs.  Frankland  appreciated  for  the 
first  time  the  fact  that  Phillida  could  hardly  feel  the 
same  exultation  in  slaughtering  her  affections  and  hopes 
that  Mrs.  Frankland  had  felt  in  advising  such  a  course  of 
spiritual  discipline.  Just  a  little  ripple  of  remorse  flecked 
the  surface  of  her  mind,  but  she  found  consolation  in  a 
purpose  to  make  the  matter  right  by  seeing  Phillida  the 
next  day  and  inquiring  more  fully  into  the  matter.  Her 
natural  hopefulness  came  to  her  rescue,  and  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  slept  without  disturbance  from  regrets. 


268  THE   FAITH    DOCTOR. 

When  she  awaked  in  the  morning  it  was  with  a  dull 
sense  that  there  was  something  which  needed  to  be  right 
ed.  She  had  to  rummage  her  memory  awhile  to  dis 
cover  just  what  it  was.  Having  placed  it  at  length  in 
Phillida's  affair,  she  suddenly  reflected  that  perhaps  Mrs. 
Hilbrough  could  throw  light  on  it,  and  she  would  post 
pone  seeing  Phillida  until  after  her  drive  with  Mrs.  Hil 
brough  in  the  afternoon.  "  It  is  better  to  give  counsel 
advisedly,"  was  the  phrase  with  which  she  ticketed  this 
decision  and  sustained  it. 

The  day  was  fine,  and  the  drive  in  Mrs.  Hilbrough's 
easy-rolling  open  carriage  was  exhilarating,  and  in  that 
sort  of  bird-chatter  about  nothing  in  particular  in  which 
two  people  enjoying  motion  are  prone  to  engage  Mrs. 
Frankland  was  in  danger  of  forgetting  her  purpose  to 
inquire  about  Phillida  Callender,  until  at  length,  when 
the  carriage  was  fairly  within  the  Park,  Mrs.  Hilbrough, 
whose  businesslike  brain  never  let  go  its  grasp  on  a  main 
purpose,  said : 

"  Mrs.  Frankland,  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  Miss 
Callender." 

"  The  very  person  I  wished  to  ask  your  advice  about," 
said  Mrs.  Frankland.  "  She  called  on  me  yesterday  late 
in  the  afternoon." 

"Did  she?"  Mrs.  Hilbrough  asked  this  with  inter 
nal  alarm.  "  Did  she  say  anything  to  you  about  her  love 
affair?" 

"  Yes,''  said  Mrs.  Frankland  ;  "  I  suppose  I  ought  not 
to  repeat  what  she  said,  but  you  are  her  friend  and  you 
will  be  able  to  advise  me  in  the  matter.  I'm  afraid  I 


MRS.  FRANKLAND'S  REPENTANCE.  269 

didn't  say  just  the  right  thing— I  mean  that  I  didn't 
advise  her  as  fully  as  I  should  have  done.  It's  hard  to 
know  what  to  say  about  other  people's  affairs.  I  felt 
worried  about  her,  and  I  came  near  going  to  see  her  this 
morning  But  I  remembered  that  you  were  her  friend, 
and  I  thought  it  best  to  see  what  you  would  say.  It's 
always  best  to  give  counsel  advisedly,  I  think." 

"  May  I  ask  what  you  said  to  her  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hil- 
brough,  characteristically  refusing  to  be  shunted  from  the 
main  line  of  her  purpose. 

Mrs.  Frankland  winced  at  the  question,  and  especially 
at  the  straightforward  thrust  with  which  it  was  asked. 
But  she  said  :  "  I  only  advised  her  in  a  very  general  way. 
It  was  just  after  I  had  finished  speaking,  and  I  wasn't  able 
to  take  up  the  matter  as  carefully  as  I  should  have  liked 
to  do,  you  know,  until  after  I  had  rested." 

"  Did  you  advise  her  to  break  her  engagement  ?  "  The 
steadiness  with  which  Mrs.  Hilbrough  pushed  her  inquiry 
was  disagreeable  to  her  companion,  who  liked  to  find 
refuge  from  an  unpleasant  subject  in  vagueness  of  state 
ment.  But  at  least  she  was  not  driven  to  bay  yet ;  she 
had  not  definitely  advised  Phillida  to  break  with  her 
lover. 

"  No ;  not  that.  I  only  gave  her  general  advice  to  be 
faithful  to  her  convictions." 

Mrs.  Frankland's  avoidance  of  the  explicit  confirmed 
Mrs.  Hilbrough's  suspicion  as  to  the  tenor  of  the  advice 
given.  The  latter  blamed  herself  for  having  moved  too 
slowly,  and  she  was  impatient,  moreover,  with  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  ;  for  one  is  apt  to  be  vexed  when  a  person  very  clever 


270  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

in  one  way  is  conspicuously  stupid  in  other  regards. 
When  Mrs.  Hilbrough  spoke  again  a  trace  of  irritation 
showed  itself. 

"  Phillida  is  the  only  person  I  know  to  whom  I  think 
your  Bible  readings  may  do  harm." 

"  My  Bible  readings  ?  "  queried  Mrs.  Frankland.  She 
had  been  used  so  long  to  hear  her  readings  spoken  of  in 
terms  not  of  praise  but  rather  of  rapture,  as  though  they 
were  the  result  of  a  demi-divine  inspiration,  that  this 
implied  censure  or  qualification  of  the  universality  of 
their  virtue  and  application  came  to  her,  not  exactly  as  a 
personal  offense,  but  with  the  shock  of  something  like 
profanation;  and  she  reddened  with  suppressed  annoy 
ance. 

"  I  don't  mean  that  it  is  your  fault,"  said  Mrs.  Hil 
brough,  seeking  to  get  on  a  more  diplomatic  footing  with 
her  companion.  "  Phillida  is  very  peculiar  and  enthusi 
astic  in  her  nature,  and  she  knows  nothing  of  the  world. 
She  is  prone  to  take  all  exhortations  rather  too  lit 
erally." 

"  But  my  words  have  often  encouraged  Phillada,"  said 
Mrs.  Frankland,  who  had  been  touched  to  the  quick. 
"  You  would  rob  me  of  one  of  the  solid  comforts  of  my 
life  if  you  took  from  me  the  belief  that  I  have  been  able 
to  strengthen  her  for  her  great  work." 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  encouraged  her  to  go  on,"  said 
Mrs.  Hilbrough,  desirous  not  to  antagonize  Mrs.  Frank- 
land.  "  But  she  also  needs  moderating.  She  is  engaged 
to  an  admirable  man,  a  man  getting  to  be  very  well  off, 
and  who  will  be  made  cashier  of  our  bank  very  soon.  He 


MRS.   FRANKLAND'S  REPENTANCE.  271 

is  kind-hearted,  liberal  with  his  money,  and  universally 
beloved  and  admired  in  society." 

Mrs.  Frankland  was  not  the  person  to  undervalue 
such  a  catalogue  of  qualities  when  presented  to  her  in  the 
concrete.  True,  on  her  theory,  a  Christian  young  woman 
ought  to  be  ready  in  certain  circumstances  to  throw  such 
a  lover  over  the  gunwale  as  ruthlessly  as  the  sailors 
pitched  Jonah  headlong.  That  is  to  say,  a  Christian 
young  woman  in  the  abstract  ought  to  be  abstractly  will 
ing  to  discard  a  rich  lover  in  the  abstract.  But  presented 
in  this  concrete  and  individual  way  the  case  was  differ 
ent.  She  was  a  little  dazzled  at  the  brightness  of  Phil- 
lida's  worldly  prospects,  now  that  they  were  no  longer 
merely  rhetorical,  but  real,  tangible,  and,  in  commercial 
phrase,  convertible. 

"  True,  true,"  she  answered  reflectively.  "  She  would 
be  so  eminently  useful  if  she  had  money."  This  was  the 
way  Mrs.  Frankland  phrased  her  sense  of  the  attractive 
ness  of  such  a  man.  "  She  might  exert  an  excellent  in 
fluence  in  society.  We  do  need  more  such  people  as  the 
leaven  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven  in  wealthy  circles." 

"  Indeed  we  do,"  said  Mrs.  Hilbrough,  "  and  for  Phil- 
lida  to  throw  away  such  prospects,  and  such  opportunities 
for  usefulness  " — she  added  this  last  as  an  afterthought, 
taking  her  cue  from  Mrs.  Frankland — "  seems  to  me 
positively  wrong." 

"  It  would  certainly  be  a  mistake,"  said  Mrs.  Frank- 
land.  Mrs.  Hilbrough  thought  she  detected  just  a  quiver 
of  regret  in  her  companion's  voice.  "Does  he  object 
strongly  to  her  mission  work  ?  " 


272  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

"  No ;  he  doesn't  object  to  her  work,  I  am  sure,  for 
she  was  already  absorbed  in  it  when  he  first  met  her  at 
my  house,  and  if  he  had  objected  there  would  have  been 
no  beginning  of  their  attachment.  But  he  is  greatly 
annoyed  that  she  should  be  talked  about  and  ridiculed  as 
a  faith-doctor.  He  is  a  man  of  society,  and  he  feels  such 
things.  Now,  considering  how  much  danger  of  mistake 
and  of  enthusiasm  there  is  in  such  matters,  Phillida 
might  yield  a  little  to  so  good  a  man." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  see  her,  Mrs.  Hilbrough,"  was 
Mrs.  Frankland's  non-committal  reply. 

lt  It  would  be  necessary  to  see  her  at  once,  I  fear.  She 
is  very  resolute,  and  he  is  greatly  distressed  by  what  peo 
ple  are  saying  about  her,  and  a  little  provoked,  no  doubt, 
at  what  lie  thinks  her  obstinacy." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  see  her  this  evening,"  said  Mrs. 
Frankland,  with  a  twinge  of  regret  that  she  had  not 
spoken  with  more  caution  the  day  before. 

"  I  do  wish  you  would,"  said  Mrs.  Hilbrough.  Just 
then  the  driver  sent  the  horses  into  a  swift  trot  on  a  down 
grade,  and  the  conversation  was  broken  off.  When  talk 
began  again  it  was  on  commonplace  themes,  and  there 
fore  less  strenuous.  Mrs.  Frankland  was  glad  to  get  away 
from  an  affair  that  put  her  into  an  attitude  of  apology. 

Phillida  had  passed  the  day  miserably.  She  had  tried 
to  bolster  herself  with  the  consciousness  of  having  acted 
from  the  sincerest  motives,  and  from  having  done  only 
what  was  right.  But  consciousness  of  rectitude,  whatever 
the  moralists  may  say,  is  an  inadequate  balm  for  a  heart 
that  is  breaking.  Phillida  had  not  dared  to  enter  the 


MRS.  FRANKLAND'S  REPENTANCE.  273 

parlor  to  gather  up  the  little  presents  that  Millard  had 
given  her  and  dispatch  them  to  him  until  after  supper, 
when  she  made  them  all  into  a  bundle  and  sent  them 
away.  The  messenger  boy  had  hardly  left  the  door  when 
Mrs.  Frankland  rang.  Her  husband  had  accompanied  her, 
and  she  dismissed  him  at  the  steps  with  instructions  to 
call  for  her  in  about  an  hour. 

Phillida  was  glad  to  see  Mrs.  Frankland.  A  cruel 
doubt  had  been  knocking  at  her  door  the  livelong  day. 
It  had  demanded  over  and  over  whether  her  tremendous 
sacrifice  was  necessary  after  all.  She  had  succeeded  in 
differently  well  in  barring  out  this  painful  skepticism  by 
two  considerations.  The  one  was,  that  Millard,  who  had 
almost  asked  to  be  released,  would  hereafter  be  saved 
from  mortification  on  her  account.  The  other  was,  that 
Mrs.  Frankland's  authority  was  all  on  the  side  of  the  sur 
render  she  had  made.  And  now  here  was  Mrs.  Frank- 
land,  sent  like  a  messenger  to  confirm  her  faith  and  to 
console  her  in  her  sorrow. 

"You  are  looking  troubled,"  said  Mrs.  Frankland, 
kissing  her  now  on  this  cheek  and  now  on  the  other. 
"  Dear  child,  if  I  could  only  bring  you  some  com 
fort  ! " 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Frankland,"  said  Phillida ;  "  I  am 
so  glad  that  you  have  come.  I  have  wished  for  you  all 
day." 

"Maybe  I  am  sent  to  console  you.  Who  knows? 
Perhaps,  after  all,  things  may  turn  out  better  than  you 
think."  This  was  said  in  a  full  round  voice  and  an  under 
manifestation  of  buoyant  hopefulness  and  self-reliance 

18 


274:  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

characteristic  of  Mrs.  Frankland ;  but  Phillida  shook  her 
head  despondently. 

"  Since  I  saw  you  I  have  heard  a  good  deal  about  your 
Mr.  Millard ;  I  get  the  most  favorable  accounts  of  him ; 
they  say  he  is  good,  and  every  way  a  worthy,  liberal,  and 
charming  man." 

Phillida  sat  up  straight  in  her  chair  with  eyes  averted, 
and  made  no  reply. 

"I  have  been  thinking  that,  after  all,  perhaps  you 
ought  to  make  some  concessions  to  such  a  man." 

Phillida  trembled  visibly.  This  was  not  what  she  had 
expected. 

"  You  wouldn't  wish  me  to  be  unfaithful  to  my  duty, 
would  you  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"No,  dear;  I  don't  say  you  ought  to  sacrifice  any 
thing  that  is  dearly  your  duty.  Some  duties  are  so  clear 
that  they  shine  like  the  pole  -  star  which  guides  the 
mariner.  But  there  are  many  duties  that  are  not  quite 
clear.  We  should  be  careful  not  to  insist  too  strongly  on 
things  in  which  we  may  be  mistaken.  There  would  be 
no  such  thing  as  marriage  if  there  was  not  some  yielding 
on  both  sides ;  I  mean  in  matters  not  certainly  essential 
to  a  Christian  life." 

Phillida  was  now  looking  directly  at  her  visitor  with  a 
fixed  and  hopeless  melancholy  which  puzzled  Mrs.  Frank- 
land,  who  had  expected  that  she  would  seize  gratefully 
upon  any  advice  tending  to  relax  the  rigor  of  her  self- 
sacrifice.  Phillida's  attitude  was  incomprehensible  to  her 
visitor.  Could  it  be  that  she  had  resolved  to  break  with 
her  lover  at  all  hazards? 


MRS.  FRANKLAND'S  REPENTANCE.  275 

"  You  know,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Frankland,  sailing  on  a 
new  tack  now,  as  was  her  wont  when  her  audience  proved 
unresponsive,  "  I  think,  that  as  the  wife  of  a  man  with 
increasing  wealth  and  of  excellent  social  position,  like  Mr. 
Millard,  you  would  be  very  useful.  We  need  such  de 
voted  and  faithful  people  as  you  are  in  society.  And, 
after  all,  your  gift  of  healing  might  be  exercised  without 
publicity — you  might,  I  think,  defer  a  good  deal  to  one 
whom  you  have  promised  to  love.  Love  is  also  a  gift  of 
God  and  a  divine  ordinance.  In  fact,  considering  how 
ample  your  opportunities  would  be  as  the  wife  of  a  man 
of  wealth  and  position,  such  as  Mr.  Millard,  it  seems  to 
be  your  duty  to  examine  carefully  and  prayerfully  whether 
there  is  not  some  reasonable  ground  on  which  you  can 
meet  him.  At  least,  my  dear,  do  not  act  too  hastily  in  a 
matter  of  so  much  moment." 

Advice  pitched  in  this  key  did  not  weigh  much  at 
any  time  with  Phillida.  A  thin  veil  of  religious  senti 
ment  served  a  purpose  of  self-deception  with  Mrs.  Frank- 
land,  but  such  disguises  could  not  conceal  from  Phillida's 
utterly  sincere  spirit  the  thoroughly  worldly  standpoint 
of  Mrs.  Frankland's  suggestions.  The  effect  of  this  line 
of  talk  upon  her  mind  was  very  marked,  nevertheless.  It 
produced  a  disenchantment,  rapid,  sudden,  abrupt,  terri 
ble.  Mrs.  Frankland,  the  oracle  upon  whose  trustworthi 
ness  she  had  ventured  her  all,  had  proven  herself  one  of 
the  most  fallible  of  guides.  The  advice  given  yesterday 
with  an  assurance  that  only  a  settled  and  undoubting 
conviction  could  possibly  excuse,  was  to-day  pettifogged 
away  mainly  on  the  ground  of  Charley's  worldly  pros- 


276  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

perity.  Phillida  had  revered  the  woman  before  her  as  a 
sort  of  divine  messenger,  had  defended  her  against  Mil- 
lard's  aspersions,  had  followed  her  counsel  at  the  most 
critical  moment  of  her  life  in  opposition  to  the  judgment 
of  her  family  and  of  the  man  she  loved.  And  now,  too 
late,  the  strenuous  exhortation  was  retracted,  not  so  much 
in  the  interest  of  a  breaking  heart  as  in  that  of  a  good 
settlement. 

When,  after  a  pause,  Phillida  spoke,  the  abrupt  and 
profound  change  in  the  relations  of  the  two  became  mani 
fest.  Her  voice  was  broken  and  reproachful  as  she  said, 
"  You  come  this  evening  to  take  back  what  you  said  yes 
terday." 

"  I  spoke  without  time  to  think  yesterday,"  said  Mrs. 
Frankland,  making  a  movement  of  uneasiness.  One 
accustomed  to  adulation  does  not  receive  reproach  grace 
fully. 

"  You  spoke  very  strongly,"  said  Phillida.  "  I  thought 
you  must  feel  very  sure  that  you  were  right,  for  you  knew 
how  critical  my  position  was."  The  words  were  uttered 
slowly  and  by  starts.  Mrs.  Frankland  did  not  reply. 
Phillida  presently  went  on  :  "I  don't  care  anything  about 
the  worldly  prospects  you  think  so  much  of  to-day.  But 
God  knows  what  an  awful  sacrifice  I  have  made.  In 
following  your  advice,  which  was  very  solemnly  given,  I 
have  thrown  away  the  love  and  devotion  of  one  of  the 
best  men  in  the  world."  She  lifted  her  hands  from  her 
lap  as  she  spoke  and  let  them  fall  when  she  had  finished. 

"Have  you  broken  your  engagement  already?"  said 
Mrs.  Frankland,  with  a  start. 


MRS.  FRANKLAND'S  REPENTANCE.  277 

"  What  else  could  I  do  ?  You  told  me  to  stand  by  my 
work  of  healing.  I  hope  you  were  right,  for  it  has  cost 
me  everythiDg — everything.  I  thought  you  had  come  to 
comfort  me  to-night  and  to  strengthen  my  faith.  In 
stead  of  that  you  have  taken  back  all  that  you  said 
before." 

"  I  only  spoke  generally  before.  I  didn't  know  the 
circumstances.  I  did  not  know  anything  about  Mr.  Mil- 
lard,  or — "  Here  she  paused. 

"  You  didn't  know  about  Mr.  Millard's  property  or 
social  position,  I  suppose.  These  are  what  you  have 
talked  to  me  about  this  evening.  They  are  not  bad 
things  to  have,  perhaps,  but,  if  they  were  all,  I  could 
give  them  up — trample  them  under  foot,  and  be  glad." 

"  Don't  be  provoked  with  me,  Phillida  dear.  Indeed, 
I  hardly  realized  what  I  said  yesterday.  I  had  just  got 
through  with  speaking,  I  was  very  much  exhausted,  and 
I  did  not  quite  understand." 

"  You  may  have  been  right  yesterday,"  said  Phillida ; 
"  I  hope  you  were.  If  you  were  wrong,  it  was  a  dreadful 
mistake."  She  made  a  long  pause,  and  then  went  on. 
"I  thought  the  course  you  advised  yesterday  a  brave 
course  at  least.  But  what  you  have  said  to-day,  about 
social  position  and  so  on,  I  hate.  And  it  makes  me  doubt 
it  all." 

Phillida  thrust  out  the  toe  of  her  boot,  unconsciously 
giving  expression  to  her  disposition  to  spurn  Mrs.  Frank- 
land's  worldly-wise  counsel. 

"You're  excited,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Frankland. 
"  Your  break  with  Mr.  Millard  may  not  be  so  irretrievable 


278  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

as  you  think  it.  Providence  will  direct.  If,  on  the 
whole,  it  is  thought  best,  I  have  no  doubt  things  may  be 
replaced  on  their  old  footing.  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Hilbrough 
and  I  could  manage  that.  You  ought  not  to  be  un 
reasonable." 

"  I  sent  him  in  agony  out  into  the  rainy  night,  for 
saken  and  discarded."  Phillida  could  not  quite  suppress 
a  little  sob  as  she  stretched  her  hand  a  moment  in  the 
direction  in  which  Millard  had  gone.  "  God  knows  I 
thought  I  was  doing  right.  Now  because  you  have  heard 
that  he  has  money  and  moves  in  fashionable  circles  you 
wish  me  to  intrigue  with  you  and  Mrs.  Hilbrough  to  bring 
him  back." 

Phillida  rose  to  her  feet,  excitement  breaking  through 
the  habitual  reserve  with  which  her  emotional  nature  was 
overlaid.  "  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Frankland,"  she  went  on  with 
a  directness  verging  on  vehemence,  "  that  I  will  have 
none  of  your  interference,  nor  any  of  Mrs.  Hilbrough's. 
What  I  have  done,  is  done,  and  can  never  be  recalled." 

"  Indeed,  Phillida,  you  are  excited,"  said  Mrs.  Frank- 
land.  "You  reject  the  advice  and  assistance  of  your 
best  friends.  You  have  quite  misunderstood  what  I  have 
said.  I  only  wished  to  repair  my  error." 

Phillida  remained  silent,  but  she  resumed  her  seat. 

"Think  the  matter  over.  Take  time  to  make  your 
decision.  I  have  acted  only  in  your  interest,  and  yet  you 
blame  me."  Mrs.  Frankland  said  this  with  persuasive 
plaintiveness  of  tone. 

But  Phillida  said  nothing.  Not  seeing  anything  else 
to  do,  Mrs.  Frankland  rose  and  said :  "  Good-by,  Phillida. 


MRS.  FRANKLAND'S  REPENTANCE.  279 

"When  you  have  had  time  to  think  you  will  see  things 
differently."  She  did  not  extend  her  hand,  and  Phillida 
felt  that  her  own  was  too  chill  and  limp  to  offer.  She 
contrived,  however,  to  utter  a  "  Good-by." 

AVhen  she  had  shut  the  door  after  Mrs.  Frankland  one 
swift  thought  and  bitter  came  into  her  mind.  "  Charley 
was  not  wholly  wrong  as  to  Mrs.  Frankland.  Perhaps  he 
was  nearer  right  in  other  regards  than  I  thought  him." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  door-bell  rang,  and  Agatha  an 
swered  the  call.  Then  she  put  her  head  into  the  parlor 
where  Phillida  sat,  back  to  the  door,  gazing  into  the 
street. 

"  I  say,  Philly,  what  do  you  think  ?  Mr.  Frankland 
came  to  the  door  just  now  for  his  wife,  and  seemed  quite 
crestfallen  that  she  had  forgotten  him,  and  left  him  to  go 
home  alone.  Didn't  like  to  be  out  so  late  without  an 
escort,  I  suppose.^ 

It  was  one  of  a  hundred  devices  to  which  Agatha  had 
resorted  during  this  day  to  cheer  her  sister.  But  seeing 
that  this  one  served  its  purpose  no  better  than  the  rest, 
Agatha  went  over  and  put  her  arms  about  her  sister's 
neck  and  kissed  her. 

"  You  dear,  dear  Philly !  You  are  the  best  in  the 
world,"  she  said,  and  the  speech  roused  Phillida  from  her 
despair  and  brought  her  the  balm  of  tears. 


XXVI. 
ELEANOR  ARABELLA  BOWYER. 

IT  is  a  truth  deep  and  wide,  that  a  brother  i3  born  for 
adversity.  The  spirit  of  kin  and  clan,  rooted  in  remote 
heredity,  outlives  other  and  livelier  attachments.  It  not 
only  survives  rude  blows,  but  its  true  virtue  is  only  ex 
tracted  by  the  pestle  of  tribulation.  Having  broken  with 
her  lover,  and  turned  utterly  away  from  her  spiritual 
guide  and  adviser,  Phillida  found  herself  drawn  more 
closely  to  her  mother  and  her  sister.  It  mattered  little 
that  they  differed  from  her  in  regard  to  many  things. 
She  could  at  least  count  on  their  affection,  and  that 
sympathy  which  grows  out  of  a  certain  entanglement  of 
the  rootlets  of  memory  and  consciousness,  out  of  common 
interest  and  long  and  intimate  association. 

Mrs.  Callender  had  been  habituated  when  she  was  a 
little  girl  at  home  to  leave  the  leadership  to  her  sister 
Harriet,  now  Mrs.  Gouverneur,  and  to  keep  her  dissents 
to  herself.  Her  relation  with  her  husband  was  similar ; 
she  had  rarely  tried  to  influence  a  man  whose  convictions 
of  duty  were  so  pronounced,  though  the  reasons  for  these 
convictions  were  often  quite  beyond  the  comprehension 
of  his  domestically  minded  wife.  Toward  Phillida  she 
had  early  assumed  the  same  diffident  attitude;  it  was 


ELEANOR  ARABELLA  BOWYER.  281 

enough  for  her  to  say  that  Phillida  was  her  father  over 
again.  That  settled  it  once  for  all.  Phillida  was  to  be 
treated  as  her  father  had  been ;  to  be  trusted  with  her 
own  destiny  without  impertinent  inquiries  from  one  who 
never  could  understand,  though  she  deeply  respected,  the 
mysterious  impulses  which  urged  these  superior  beings  to 
philanthropic  toil.  For  her  own  part  she  would  have 
preferred  to  take  the  universe  less  broadly. 

A  second  effect  of  this  crisis  in  Phillida's  life  was  to 
drive  her  back  upon  the  example  and  teaching  of  her 
father.  Having  utterly  abandoned  the  leadership  of  Mrs. 
Frankland,  she  naturally  sought  support  for  her  self- 
sacrificing  course  of  action  outside  of  her  own  authority. 
All  her  father's  old  letters,  written  to  her  when  she  was  a 
child,  were  unbundled  and  read  over  again,  and  some  of 
his  manuscript  sermons  had  the  dust  of  years  shaken  from 
their  leaves  that  she  might  con  their  pages  written  in  the 
dear,  familiar  hand. 

If  she  had  had  her  decision  to  make  over  again  with 
out  any  bolstering  from  Mrs.  Frankland  she  would  have 
sought,  for  a  while  at  least,  to  establish  a  modus  vivendi 
between  her  love  for  Millard  and  the  ultra  form  of  her 
religious  work.  But  the  more  she  thought  of  it  the  more 
she  considered  it  unlikely  that  her  decision  regarding  her 
lover  would  ever  come  up  for  revision.  She  accepted  it 
now  as  something  providential,  because  inevitable,  to 
which  she  must  grow  accustomed,  an  ugly  fact  with 
which  she  must  learn  to  live  in  peace.  She  had  a  knack 
of  judging  of  herself  and  her  own  affairs  in  an  objective 
way.  She  would  not  refuse  to  see  merely  because  it  was 


282  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

painful  to  her  that  a  woman  of  her  tastes  and  pursuits 
was  an  unsuitable  mate  for  a  man  of  society.  She  ad 
mitted  the  incongruity ;  she  even  tried  to  console  herself 
with  it.  For  if  the  break  had  not  come  so  soon,  it  might 
have  come  after  marriage  in  forms  more  dreadful.  There 
was  not  much  comfort  in  this — might  have  been  worse  is 
but  the  skim-milk  of  consolation. 

To  a  nature  like  Phillida's  one  door  of  comfort,  or  at 
least  of  blessed  forgetfulness,  is  hardly  ever  shut.  After 
the  first  bitter  week  she  found  hours  of  relief  from  an 
aching  memory  in  her  labors  among  the  suffering  poor. 
Work  of  any  kind  is  a  sedative ;  sympathy  with  the  sor 
rows  of  others  is  a  positive  balm.  Her  visits  to  the 
Schulenberg  tenement  were  always  an  alleviation  to  her 
unhappiness.  There  she  was  greeted  as  a  beneficent 
angel.  The  happiness  of  "Wilhelmina,  of  her  mother,  and 
of  her  brother,  for  a  time  put  Phillida  almost  at  peace 
With  her  destiny. 

Her  visits  to  and  her  prayers  for  other  sufferers  were 
attended  with  varying  success  as  to  their  ailments.  The 
confidence  in  the  healing  power  of  her  prayers  among 
the  tenement  people  was  not  based  altogether  on  the  bet 
terment  of  some  of  those  for  whom  she  prayed.  Know 
ing  her  patient  long-suffering  with  the  evil  she  contended 
against,  they  reasoned,  in  advance  of  proof,  that  her 
prayers  ought  to  have  virtue  in  them.  The  reverence  for 
her  was  enhanced  by  a  report,  which  began  to  circulate 
about  this  time,  that  she  had  refused  to  marry  a  rich  man 
in  order  to  keep  up  her  labor  among  the  poor.  Rumor  is 
alwavs  an  artist,  and  tradition,  which  is  but  fossil  rumor, 


ELEANOR  ARABELLA  BOWYER.       283 

is  the  great  saint-maker.  The  nature  and  extent  of  Phil- 
lida's  sacrifice  were  amplified  and  adapted  until  people 
came  to  say  that  Miss  Callender  had  refused  a  young 
millionaire  because  he  wished  her  not  to  continue  her 
work  in  Mackerelville.  This  pretty  story  did  not  miti 
gate  the  notoriety  which  was  an  ingredient  of  her  pain. 

In  spite  of  the  sedative  of  labor  and  the  consolation 
of  altruism,  Poe's  raven  would  croak  in  her  ears  through 
hours  spent  in  solitude.  In  the  evenings  she  found  her 
self  from  habit  and  longing  listening  for  the  door-bell, 
and  its  alarm  would  always  give  her  a  moment  of  flutter 
ing  expectation,  followed  by  a  period  of  revulsion.  Once 
the  bell  rang  at  about  the  hour  of  Millard's  habitual  com 
ing,  and  Phillida  sat  in  that  state  in  which  one  expects 
without  having  reason  to  expect  anything  in  particular 
until  the  servant  brought  her  a  card  bearing  the  legend, 
"  Eleanor  Arabella  Bowyer,  Christian  Scientist  and  Meta 
physical  Practitioner." 

"  Eleanor  Arabella  Bowyer,"  she  said,  reading  it  to  her 
mother  as  they  sat  in  the  front  basement  below  the  parlor. 
"  Who  is  she?  I've  never  heard  of  her." 

"  I  don't  know,  Phillida.  I  don't  seem  to  remember 
any  Bowyers." 

"Where  is  the  lady,  Sarah?"  asked  Phillida  of  the 
servant. 

"  She  is  in  the  parlor,  Miss." 

Phillida  rose  and  went  np-stairs.  She  found  awaiting 
her  a  woman  rather  above  medium  height.  Phillida 
noted  a  certain  obtrusiveness  about  the  bony  substructure 
of  her  figure,  a  length  and  breadth  of  framework  never 


284  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

quite  filled  out  as  it  was  meant  to  be,  so  that  the  joints 
and  angles  of  her  body  showed  themselves  with  the  effect 
of  headlands  and  rocky  promontories.  She  had  a  sallow 
complexion  and  a  nose  that  was  retrousse,  with  a  prompt 
outward  and  upward  thrust  about  the  lower  half  of  it, 
accompanied  by  a  tendency  to  thinness  as  it  approached 
its  termination,  quite  out  of  agreement  with  the  promi 
nent  cheek-bones.  The  whole  face  had  a  certain  air 
of  tough  endurance,  of  determination,  of  resolute  go- 
forwardness  untempered  by  the  recoil  of  sensitiveness. 
Miss  Bowyer  was  clad  in  good  clothes  without  being  well- 
dressed. 

"  Miss  Callender,  I  suppose,"  said  the  visitor,  rising, 
and  extending  her  hand  with  confidence.  Her  voice  was 
without  softness  or  resonance,  but  it  was  not  nasal — a 
voice  admirably  suited,  one  would  think,  for  calling  cows. 
Her  grasp  of  the  hand  was  positive,  square,  unreserved, 
but  as  destitute  of  sympathetic  expression  as  her  vowels. 
"  I've  heard  a  good  deal  about  you,  one  way  and  another," 
she  said.  "  You've  been  remarkably  successful  in  your 
faith-cures,  I  am  told.  It's  a  great  gift,  and  you  must  be 
proud  of  it — grateful  for  it,  I  should  think."  She  closed 
this  speech  with  a  smile  which  seemed  not  exactly  spon 
taneous  but,  rather,  habitual,  as  though  it  were  a  fixed 
principle  with  her  to  smile  at  about  this  stage  of  every 
conversation. 

Phillida  was  puzzled  to  reply  to  this  speech.  She  did 
not  feel  proud  of  her  gift  of  faith-healing;  hardly  was 
she  grateful  for  it.  It  was  rather  a  burden  laid  on  her, 
which  had  been  mainly  a  source  of  pain  and  suffering. 


ELEANOR  ARABELLA  BOWYER.       285 

But  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  enter  on  a  subject  so 
personal  with  a  stranger. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  am,"  was  all  she  said. 

"  Well,  there's  a  great  deal  in  it,"  said  Miss  Bowyer. 
"  I  have  had  a  good  deal  of  experience.  There's  a  great 
deal  more  in  it  than  you  think." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  you,"  said  Phillida. 

"  No ;  of  course  not.     I  am  a  faith-healer  myself." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  said  Phillida,  mechanically,  with  a  slight 
mental  shudder  at  finding  herself  thus  classified  with  one 
for  whom  she  did  not  feel  any  affinity. 

"  Yes ;  that  is,  I  was.  I  began  as  a  faith-doctor,  but 
I  found  there  was  a  great  deal  more  in  it,  don't  you 
know?" 

"  A  great  deal  more  in  it  ?  "  queried  Phillida.  "  A 
great  deal  more  of  what,  may  I  ask? " 

"  Oh,  everything,  you  know." 

This  was  not  clarifying,  and  Phillida  waited  without 
responding  until  the  metaphysical  practitioner  should 
deign  to  explain. 

"I  mean  there's  a  great  deal  more  science  in  it,  as 
well  as  a  great  deal  more  success,  usefulness,  and — and — 
and  remuneration  to  be  had  out  of  it  than  you  think." 

"  Oh,"  said  Phillida,  not  knowing  what  else  to  say. 

"  Yes,"  said  Eleanor  Arabella  Bowyer  with  a  smile. 
She  had  a  way  of  waiting  for  the  sense  of  her  words  to 
soak  into  the  minds  of  her  hearers,  and  she  now  watched 
Phillida  for  a  moment  before  proceeding.  "  You  see 
when  I  began  I  didn't  know  anything  about  Christian 
Science, — the  new  science  of  mental  healing,  faith-cure, 


286  THE  FAITH    DOCTOR. 

psychopathy, — by  which  you  act  on  the  spirit  and  through 
the  spirit  upon  the  body.  Matter  is  subject  to  mind. 
Matter  is  unreal.  All  merely  physical  treatment  of  dis 
ease  is  on  the  mortal  plane."  Miss  Bowyer  paused  here 
waiting  for  this  great  truth  to  produce  its  effect ;  then 
she  said,  "  Don't  you  think  so  ?  "  and  looked  straight  at 
Phillida. 

"  I  haven't  thought  a  great  deal  about  it,"  said  Phil 
lida. 

"  No  ?  "  This  was  said  with  the  rising  inflection.  "  I 
thought  not ;  mere  faith-healing  doesn't  require  much 
thought.  I  know,  you  see,  having  been  a  faith-healer  at 
first.  But  we  must  go  deeper.  We  must  always  go 
deeper.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  just  what  you  mean,"  said  Phil 
lida. 

"You  see,"  said  Miss  Bowyer,  "faith-healing  is  a 
primitive  and  apostolic  mode  of  healing  the  sick." 

Miss  Bowyer  paused,  and  Phillida  said,  "  Yes,"  in  a 
hesitant  way ;  for  even  the  things  she  believed  seemed 
false  when  uttered  by  Eleanor  Bowyer. 

"  Well,  ours  is  a  scientific  age.  Now  we  practise — we 
revive  this  mode  of  healing,  but  in  a  scientific  spirit,  in 
the  spirit  of  our  age,  and  with  a  great  deal  more  of 
knowledge  than  people  had  in  ancient  times.  We  reject 
the  belief  in  evil ;  we  call  it  unreal.  Disease  is  a  mis 
take.  We  teach  faith  in  the  unity  of  God  the  All-good." 

Miss  Bowyer  evidently  expected  Phillida  to  say  some 
thing  at  this  point,  but  as  she  did  not,  Miss  Bowyer  was 
forced  to  proceed  without  encouragement. 


ELEANOR  ARABELLA  BOWYER.       287 

"  When  I  found  that  there  was  a  great  deal  in  it,  I 
took  the  subject  up  and  studied  it.  I  studied  mind-cure, 
or  metaphysical  healing,  which  strikes  at  the  root  of  dis 
ease;  I  went  into  hypnotism,  mesmerism,  and  phreno- 
magnetism,  and  the  od  force — I  don't  suppose  you  know 
about  the  od  which  Reichenbach  discovered." 

"  No." 

"  Well,  it's  wonderful,  but  mysterious.  Blue  blazes 
seen  by  the  sensitive,  and  all  that.  I  studied  that,  and 
theosophy  a  little  too,  and  I  took  up  Swedenborg ;  but  he 
was  rather  too  much  for  me.  You  can't  quite  understand 
him,  and  then  life  is  too  short  to  ever  get  through  him. 
So  I  only  read  what  somebody  else  had  printed  about 
Swedenborgianism,  and  I  understand  him  a  good  deal 
better  that  way.  That's  the  best  way  to  tackle  him,  you 
know.  Well,  now,  all  of  these  go  to  explain  the  unity  of 
truth,  and  how  the  miracles  of  the  Bible  were  worked." 

Phillida  said  nothing,  though  her  interlocutor  gave 
her  an  opportunity. 

"  Well,"  proceeded  Miss  Bowyer,  "  this  is  what  we  call 
Christian  Science.  It's  the  science  of  sciences.  It's  as 
much  above  the  rude  method  of  primitive  faith  -  cure 
practised  by  the  apostles  as  the  heavens  are  above  the 
earth.  We  understand  from  knowing  the  philosophy  of 
miracles  the  reason  why  we  do  not  always  succeed.  We 
can  not  always  secure  the  impressible  condition  by  pro 
ducing  the  quiescence  of  the  large  brain.  But  if  we  un 
derstand  the  theory  of  hypnotism  we  shall  be  able  to  put 
the  cerebrum  at  rest  and  secure  the  passive  impressible 
state  of  the  cerebellum ;  that  is,  an  introverted  condition 


288  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

of  the  mind.  This  securing  of  interior  perception  is  the 
basis  of  all  success." 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  that  God  does  it  all,"  said 
Phillida,  with  a  twitch  of  the  shoulder  expressing  the 
repulsion  she  felt  from  this  incomprehensible  explication. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Faith  in  God  the  All-good  is  at  the  root 
of  it  all.  It  is  one  of  the  things  that  induces  passive 
receptivity.  We  must  convince  the  patient  that  the  unity 
of  God  excludes  the  real  existence  of  evil." 

"  But  still  you  do  not  admit  the  direct  action  of 
God  ?  "  queried  Phillida. 

"  God  works  through  the  forces  in  nature,  according 
to  law,"  said  Miss  Bower,  glibly. 

"  That  is  just  as  true  of  the  action  of  medicine,"  said 
Phillida.  "  I  don't  like  this  affecting  to  put  God  in  while 
you  leave  him  out  of  your  mixture.  Besides,  I  don't  pre 
tend  that  I  understand  your  explanation." 

"  It  is  somewhat  fine  ;  all  philosophy  of  man's  internal 
rature  is  so.  It's  not  a  thing  to  argue  about.  Intellect 
argues  ;  spirit  perceives.  But  if  you  would  give  your 
mind  to  Truth  in  a  receptive  way,  Truth  would  set  you 
free.  I  am  sure  you  would  be  convinced  after  reading 
the  books  on  the  question." 

Phillida  made  no  offer  to  read  the  books,  and  this 
seemed  to  disappoint  Miss  Bowyer.  After  a  pause  she 
began  again  : 

"  You  might  as  well  know,  Miss  Callender,  that  I  had 
a  business  object  in  view  in  coming  to  see  you.  Some 
of  our  Christian  Science  people  are  all  enthusiasm,  but  I 
am  trained  to  business,  and  I  carry  on  my  practice  on 


ELEANOR  ARABELLA   BOWYER.  289 

business  principles.  There  is  no  reason  why  a  doctor 
who  treats  diseases  on  the  mortal  plane  by  medication 
should  be  paid  for  his  time,  and  you  and  I  not  be.  Is 
there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Phillida,  mechanically. 

"  Well,  now,  I  have  given  my  time  to  the  beautiful 
work  of  Christian  Science  healing.  I  have  an  office  in 
East  Fourteenth  street.  It  is  a  blessed  religious  work. 
But  I  can't  work  without  pay ;  I  follow  it  as  a  business, 
and  it's  got  to  support  me.  I  have  as  much  right  to 
get  on  in  the  world  as  anybody  else.  Now  I've  cleared 
over  and  above  my  office-rent,  including  what  I  get  for 
teaching  a  class  in  Christian  Science,  almost  eighteen 
hundred  dollars  in  the  very  first  year  since  I  set  up. 
That's  pretty  good  for  a  lone  woman ;  don't  you  think 
so?" 

Phillida  slightly  inclined  her  head  to  avoid  speaking. 

"  Well,  now,  I  haven't  got  many  advantages.  My 
brother  kept  a  health-lift  a  few  years  ago  when  every 
thing  was  cured  by  condensed  exercise.  But  people  got 
tired  of  condensed  exercise,  and  then  he  had  a  blue-glass 
solarium  until  that  somehow  went  out  of  fashion.  I 
helped  run  the  female  side  of  his  business,  you  know,  for 
part  of  the  profits.  My  education  is  all  business.  I 
didn't  have  any  time  to  learn  painting  or  fine  manners, 
or  any  music,  except  to  play  Moody-and-Sankeys  on  the 
melodeon.  My  practice  is  mostly  among  the  poor,  or  the 
people  that  are  only  so-so.  I  haven't  got  the  ways  that 
go  down  with  rich  people,  nor  anybody  to  give  me  a  start 
among  them.  Well,  now,  I  say  to  myself,  science  is  all 

19 


29Q  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

very  well,  and  faith  is  all  very  well,  but  you  want  some 
thing  more  than  that  to  get  on  in  a  large  way.  I  would 
rather  get  on  in  a  large  way.  Wouldn't  you  ?  " 

Here  she  paused,  but  Phillida  sat  motionless  and 
stoically  attentive.  She  only  answered,  "  Well,  I  don't 
know." 

"  Now,  when  I  heard  that  you'd  been  sent  for  to  the 
Maginnis  child,  and  that  you  have  got  relations  that  go 
among  rich  people,  I  says  to  myself,  she's  my  partner. 
I'll  furnish  the  science,  and  I'll  do  the  talking,  and  the 
drumming-up  business,  and  the  collecting  bills,  and  all 
that;  and  you,  with  your  stylish  ways,  don't  you  know? 
and  your  good  looks,  and  your  family  connections,  and 
all  that,  will  help  me  to  get  in  where  I  want  to  get  in. 
Once  in,  we're  sure  to  win.  There's  no  reason,  Miss 
Callender,  why  we  shouldn't  get  rich.  I  will  give  you 
half  of  my  practice  already  established,  and  I'll  teach  you 
the  science  and  how  to  manage,  you  know;  the  great 
thing  is  to  know  how  to  manage  your  patients,  you  see. 
I  learned  that  in  the  health-lift  and  the  blue-glass  sola 
rium.  We'll  move  farther  up  town,  say  to  West  Thirty- 
fourth  street.  Then  you  can,  no  doubt,  write  a  beautiful 
letter — that'll  qualify  us  to  go  into  what  is  called  '  absent 
treatment.'  We'll  advertise,  'Absent  treatment  a  spe 
cialty,'  and  altogether  we  can  make  ten  thousand  or  even 
twenty  thousand,  maybe,  a  year,  in  a  little  while.  Keep 
our  own  carriage,  and  so  on.  What  do  you  say  to 
that  ?  "  Miss  Bowyer's  uplifted  nose  was  now  turned  to 
ward  Phillida  in  triumphant  expectation.  She  had  not 
long  to  wait  for  a  reply.  Phillida's  feelings  had  gath- 


ELEANOR  ARABELLA  BOWYER.       291 

ered  head  enough  to  break  through.  She  answered 
promptly  : 

"  I  do  not  believe  in  your  science,  and  wouldn't  for 
the  world  take  money  from  those  that  I  am  able  to  help 
with  my  prayers."  Phillida  said  this  with  a  sudden  fire 
that  dismayed  Miss  Bowyer. 

"  But  you'll  look  into  the  matter  maybe,  Miss  Callen- 
der?" 

"  No  ;  I  will  not.  I  hate  the  whole  business."  Phil 
lida  wanted  to  add,  "  and  you  besides " ;  however,  she 
only  said :  "  Don't  say  any  more,  please.  I  won't  have 
anything  at  all  to  do  with  it."  Phillida  rose,  but  Miss 
Bowyer  did  not  take  the  hint. 

"You're  pretty  high-toned,  it  seems  to  me."  said 
the  Scientist,  smiling,  and  speaking  without  irritation. 
"  You're  going  to  throw  away  the  great  chance  of  your 
life.  Perhaps  you'll  read  some  books  that  set  forth  the 
mighty  truths  of  Christian  Science  if  I  send  them.  You 
ought  to  be  open  to  conviction.  If  you  could  only  know 
some  of  the  cases  I  myself  have  lately  cured — a  case  of 
belief  in  rheumatism  of  three  years'  standing,  and  a  case 
of  belief  in  mental  prostration  of  six  years'  duration.  If 
you  could  only  have  seen  the  joyful  results.  I  cured 
lately  an  obstinate  case  of  belief  in  neuralgia,  and  another 
of  cancer — advanced  stage.  A  case  of  belief  in  consump 
tion  with  goitre  was  lately  cured  in  the  West.  Perhaps 
you'll  look  over  some  numbers  of  the  '  International 
Magazine  of  Christian  Science  '  if  I  send  them  to  you ; 
under  the  head  of  '  Sheaves  from  the  Harvest  Field,'  it 
gives  many  remarkable  cases." 


292  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

"  I  have  no  time  to  read  anything  of  the  sort,"  said 
Phillida,  still  standing. 

"  Oh,  well,  then,  I'll  just  come  in  now  and  then  and 
explain  the  different  parts  of  the  science  to  you.  It's  a 
great  subject,  and  we  may  get  mutual  benefit  by  com 
paring  notes." 

The  prospect  of  repeated  calls  from  Eleanor  Arabella 
Bowyer  put  Phillida's  already  excited  nerves  into  some 
thing  like  a  panic.  She  had  reached  the  utmost  point 
of  endurance. 

"No,"  she  said;  "I  will  have  nothing  at  all  to  do 
with  it.  You  must  excuse  me ;  positively,  I  must  be 
excused.  I  am  very  busy,  and  I  can  not  pursue  the  sub 
ject  further." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  Metaphysical  Practitioner,  ris 
ing  reluctantly;  "but  I  think  I'll  take  the  liberty  of 
calling  again  when  you're  more  at  leisure.  You  won't 
object,  I'm  sure,  to  my  coming  in  next  week  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Phillida;  "I  will  not  have  anything  to 
do  with  the  matter  you  propose,  and  I  can  not  see  you 
again.  You  must  excuse  me." 

"  Well,  we  never  get  offended,  Miss  Callender.  Chris 
tian  Science  does  not  argue.  We  never  resent  an.affront, 
but  live  in  love  and  chanty  with  all.  That  is  Christian 
Science.  Our  success  depends  on  purity  and  a  Christian 
spirit.  I  think  I'll  send  you  a  little  book,"  added  Miss 
Bowyer,  as  reluctantly  she  felt  herself  propelled  towards 
the  door  by  the  sheer  force  of  Phillida's  manner.  "  Just 
a  little  book  ;  it  won't  take  long  to  read." 

As  Miss  Bowyer  said  this  she  paused  in  the  vestibule 


ELEANOR  ARABELLA  BOWYER.       293 

with  her  back  to  Phillida.  She  was  looking  into  the 
street,  trying  to  think  of  some  new  device  for  gaining 
hei  end. 

"  I  won't  read  a  book  if  you  send  it.  Save  yourself 
the  trouble,"  said  Phillida,  softly  closing  the  inner  door 
behind  Miss  Bowyer,  leaving  her  standing  face  outwards 
in  the  vestibule. 

"  You  had  a  hard  time  shaking  her  off,  didn't  you, 
Philly  ?  "  said  Agatha,  issuing  from  the  back  part  of  the 
dark  hall,  having  come  out  of  the  back  room  just  in  time 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Eleanor  Bowyer.  "  I  declare,  the 
way  you  closed  the  door  on  her  at  the  last  was  too 
good." 

"  Sh-h ! "  said  Phillida,  pointing  to  the  shadow  cast 
against  the  ground  glass  of  the  inner  door  by  the  tall 
form  of  the  Christian  Scientist  and  Metaphysical  Practi 
tioner  in  the  light  of  the  street  lamp. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  she  hears  or  not,"  said  Agatha, 
dropping  her  voice,  nevertheless ;  "  she  ought  to  be 
snubbed.  You're  a  little  too  easy.  That  woman  is  medi 
tating  whether  she  sha'n't  break  into  the  house  to  preach 
Christian  Science.  There,  she's  going  at  last ;  she  won't 
commit  Christian  burglary  this  time.  I  suppose  she  thinks 
burglary  doesn't  really  exist,  since  it's  contrary  to  the 
unity  of  God.  Anyhow,  she  wouldn't  commit  burglary, 
because  housebreaking  is  a  physical  thing  that's  trans 
acted  on  the  mortal  plane." 

Agatha  said  this  in  Miss  Bowyer's  tone,  and  Phillida's 
vexation  gave  way  to  laughter. 


XXVII. 
A  BAD  CASE. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  Phillida's  efforts  to  the  contrary, 
the  most  irrelevant  things  were  sufficient  so  send  her 
thoughts  flitting — like  homing  pigeons  that  can  ply  their 
swift  wings  in  but  one  direction — toward  Millard,  or  toward 
that  past  so  thickly  peopled  by  memories  of  him.  Now 
that  Eleanor  Arabella  Bowyer,  Christian  Scientist  and 
metaphysical  healer  of  ailments  the  substantial  existence 
of  which  she  denied,  had  cast  a  shadow  upon  her,  Phil- 
lida  realized  for  the  first  time  the  source  of  that  indignant 
protest  of  Millard's  which  had  precipitated  the  breaking 
of  their  engagement.  Her  name  was  on  men's  lips  in  the 
same  class  with  this  hard-cheeked  professor  of  religious 
flummery,  this  mercenary  practitioner  of  an  un-medical 
imposture  calculated  to  cheat  the  unfortunate  by  means 
of  delusive  hopes.  How  such  mention  of  her  must  have 
stung  a  proud-spirited  lover  of  propriety  like  Millard  ! 
For  the  first  time  she  could  make  allowance  and  feel 
grateful  for  his  chivalrous  impulse  to  defend  her. 

No  child  is  just  like  a  parent.  Phillida  differed  from 
her  strenuous  father  in  nature  by  the  addition  of  esthetic 
feeling.  Her  education  had  not  tended  to  develop  this, 
but  it  made  itself  felt.  Her  lofty  notions  of  self-sacrifice 


A  BAD  CASE.  295 

were  stimulated  by  a  love  for  the  sublime.  Other  young 
girls  read  romances ;  Phillida  tried  to  weave  her  own  life 
into  one.  The  desire  for  the  beautiful,  the  graceful,  the 
externally  appropriate,  so  long  denied  and  suppressed, 
furnished  the  basis  of  her  affection  for  Millard.  A  strong 
passion  never  leaves  the  nature  the  same,  and  under  the 
influence  of  Millard  her  esthetic  sense  had  grown.  Noth 
ing  that  Eleanor  Arabella  Bowyer  had  said  assailed  the 
logical  groundwork  of  her  faith.  But  during  the  hours 
following  that  conversation  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
reflect  with  pleasure,  as  had  been  her  wont,  on  the  bene 
fits  derived  from  her  prayers  by  those  who  had  been 
healed  in  whole  or  in  part  through  her  mediation.  A 
remembrance  of  the  jargon  of  the  Christian  Scientist 
mingled  with  and  disturbed  her  meditations  ;  the  case  of 
a  belief  in  rheumatism  and  the  case  of  a  belief  in  con 
sumption  with  goitre  stood  grinning  at  her  like  rude 
burlesques  of  her  own  cures,  making  ridiculous  the  work 
that  had  hitherto  seemed  so  holy.  But  when  the  morrow 
came  she  was  better  able  to  disentangle  her  thoughts  of 
healing  from  such  phrases  as  "  the  passive  impressible 
state"  and  "interior  perception."  And  when  at  length 
the  remembrance  of  Miss  Bowyer  had  grown  more  dim, 
the  habitual  way  of  looking  at  her  work  returned. 

One  morning  about  ten  days  later,  while  she  was  at 
breakfast,  the  basement  door-bell  was  rung,  and  when  the 
servant  answered  it  Phillida  heard  some  one  in  the  area, 
speaking  with  a  German  accent. 

"  Please  tell  Miss  Callender  that  Rudolph  Schulenberg 
will  like  to  speak  with  her." 


296  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

Phillida  rose  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  Miss  Callender,"  said  Rudolph,  "  Mina  is  so  sick  for 
three  days  already  and  she  hopes  you  will  come  to  her 
right  away  this  morning,  wunst,  if  you  will  be  so  kind." 

"  Certainly  I  will.  But  what  is  the  matter  with  her  ? 
Is  it  the  old  trouble  with* the  back  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  is  much  worse  as  that.  She  has  got  such  a 
cough,  and  she  can  not  breathe.  Mother  she  believe  that 
Mina  is  heart-sick  and  will  die  wunst  already." 

"  I  will  come  in  half  an  hour  or  so." 

"  If  you  would.  My  mother  her  heart  is  just  break 
ing.  But  Mina  is  sure  that  if  Miss  Callender  will  come 
and  pray  with  her  the  cough  will  all  go  away  wunst  more 
already." 

Phillida  finished  her  breakfast  in  almost  total  silence, 
and  then  without  haste  left  the  house.  She  distinctly 
found  it  harder  to  maintain  her  attitude  of  faith  than  it 
had  been.  But  all  along  the  street  she  braced  herself  by 
prayer  and  meditation,  until  her  spirit  was  once  more 
wrought  into  an  ecstasy  of  religious  exaltation.  She 
mounted  the  familiar  stairs,  thronged  now  with  noisy- 
footed  and  vociferous  children  issuing  from  the  various 
family  cells  on  each  level  to  set  out  for  school. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Schulenberg ? "  said  Phillida, 
as  she  encountered  the  mother  on  the  landing  in  front  of 
her  door.  "  How  is  Wilhelmina  ?  " 

"  Bad,  very  bad,"  whispered  the  mother,  closing  the 
door  behind  her  and  looking  at  Phillida  with  a  face  laden 
with  despair.  Then  alternately  wiping  her  eyes  with  her 
apron  and  shaking  her  head  ominously,  she  said :  "  She 


A   BAD   CASE.  297 

will  never  get  well  this  time.  She  is  too  bad  already. 
She  is  truly  heart-sick." 

"  Have  you  had  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  No ;  Mina  will  not  have  only  but  you.  I  tell  her  it 
is  no  use  to  pray  when  she  is  so  sick ;  she  must  have  a 
doctor.  But  no." 

"  How  long  has  she  been  sick  ?  " 

"  Well,  three  or  four  days ;  but  she  was  not  well  " — 
the  mother  put  her  hand  on  her  chest — "for  a  week. 
She  has  been  thinking  you  would  come."  Mrs.  Schulen- 
berg's  speech  gave  way  to  tears  and  a  despairing  shaking 
of  the  head  from  side  to  side. 

Phillida  entered,  and  found  Mina  bolstered  in  her 
chair,  flushed  with  fever  and  gasping  for  breath.  The 
sudden  change  in  her  appearance  was  appalling. 

"  I  thought  if  you  would  come,  nothing  would  seem 
too  hard  for  your  prayers.  0  Miss  Callender," — her  voice 
died  to  a  hoarse  whisper, — "pray  for  me,  I  wanted  to  die 
wunst  already  ;  you  remember  it.  But  ever  since  I  have 
been  better  it  has  made  my  mother  and  Rudolph  so  happy 
again.  If  now  I  die  what  will  mother  do  ?  " 

The  spectacle  of  the  emaciated  girl  wrestling  for 
breath  and  panting  with  fever,  while  her  doom  was 
written  upon  her  face,  oppressed  the  mind  of  Phillida. 
Was  it  possible  that  prayer  could  save  one  so  visibly 
smitten  ?  She  turned  and  looked  at  the  mother  standing 
just  inside  the  door,  her  face  wrung  with  the  agony  of 
despair  while  she  yet  watched  Phillida  with  eagerness  to 
see  if  she  had  anything  to  propose  that  promised  relief. 
Then  a  terrible  sense  of  what  was  expected  of  her  by 


298  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

mother  and  daughter  came  over  her  mind,  and  her  spirits 
sank  as  under  the  weight  of  a  millstone. 

Phillida  was  not  one  of  those  philanthropists  whom 
use  has  enabled  to  look  on  suffering  in  a  dry  and  pro 
fessional  way.  She  was  most  susceptible  on  the  side  of 
her  sympathies.  Her  depression  came  from  pity,  and  her 
religious  exaltation  often  came  from  the  same  source. 
After  a  minute  of  talk  and  homely  ministry  to  Wilhel- 
mina's  comfort,  Phillida's  soul  rose  bravely  to  its  burden. 
The  threat  of  bereavement  that  hung  over  the  widow  and 
her  son,  the  shadow  of  death  that  fell  upon  the  already 
stricken  life  of  the  unfortunate  young  woman,  might  be 
dissipated  by  the  goodness  of  God.  The  sphere  into 
which  Phillida  rose  was  not  one  of  thought  but  one  of 
intense  and  exalted  feeling.  The  sordid  and  depressing 
surroundings — the  dingy  and  broken-backed  chairs,  the 
cracked  and  battered  cooking-stove,  the  ancient  chest  of 
drawers  without  a  knob  left  upon  it,  the  odor  of  German 
tenement  cookery  and  of  feather-beds — vanished  now. 
Wilhelmina,  for  her  part,  held  Phillida  fast  by  the  hand 
and  saw  no  one  but  her  savior,  and  Phillida  felt  a  moving 
of  the  heart  that  one  feels  in  pulling  a  drowning  person 
from  the  water,  and  that  uplifting  of  the  spirit  that  comes 
to  those  of  the  true  prophetic  temperament.  She  read  in 
a  gentle,  fervent  voice  some  of  the  ancient  miracles  of 
healing  from  the  English  columns  of  the  leather-covered 
German  and  English  Testament,  while  the  exhausted 
Wilhelmina  still  held  her  hand  and  wrestled  for  the 
breath  of  life. 

Then  Phillida  knelt  by  the  well-worn  wooden-bot- 


A  BAD   CASE.  299 

torn  chair  while  Mrs.  Schulenberg  knelt  by  a  stool  on 
the  other  side  of  the  stove,  burying  her  face  in  her  apron. 
Never  was  prayer  more  sincere,  never  was  prayer  more 
womanly  or  more  touching.  As  Phillida  proceeded  with 
her  recital  of  Wilhelmina's  sufferings,  as  she  alluded  to 
the  value  of  Mina  to  her  mother  and  the  absent  Rudolph, 
and  then  prayed  for  the  merciful  interposition  of  God, 
the  mother  sobbed  aloud,  Phillida's  faith  rose  with  the 
growing  excitement  of  her  pity,  and  she  closed  the 
prayer  at  length  without  a  doubt  that  Mina  would  be 
cured. 

"  I  do  feel  a  little  better  now,"  said  Wilhelmina,  when 
the  prayer  was  ended. 

"  I  will  bring  you  something  from  the  Diet  Kitchen," 
said  Phillida  as  she  went  out.  The  patient  had  scarcely 
tasted  food  for  two  days,  but  when  Phillida  came  back 
she  ate  a  little  and  thought  herself  better. 

Phillida  came  again  in  the  afternoon,  and  was  disap 
pointed  not  to  find  Mina  improving.  But  the  sick  girl 
clung  to  her,  and  while  Phillida  remained  she  would  have 
nothing  even  from  the  hand  of  her  mother.  The  scene 
of  the  morning  was  repeated ;  again  Phillida  prayed,  again 
TVilhelmina  was  a  little  better,  and  ate  a  little  broth  from 
the  hands  of  her  good  angel. 

The  burden  of  the  poor  girl  and  her  mother  rested 
heavily  on  Phillida  during  the  evening  and  whenever  she 
awakened  during  the  night.  Mrs.  Callender  and  Agatha 
only  asked  how  she  found  Wilhelmina ;  they  thought  it 
best  not  to  intrude  on  the  anxiety  in  Phillida's  mind,  the 
nature  of  which  they  divined. 


300  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

When  breakfast  was  over  the  next  morning  Phillida 
hastened  again  to  the  Schulenbergs. 

"Ah!  it  is  no  good  this  time;  I  shall  surely  die," 
gasped  Wilhelmina,  sitting  bolstered  on  her  couch  and 
looking  greatly  worse  than  the  day  before.  "  The  night 
has  been  bad.  I  have  had  to  fight  and  fight  all  the 
long  night  for  my  breath.  Miss  Callender,  my  time  has 
come." 

The  mother  was  looking  out  of  the  window  to  conceal 
her  tears.  But  Phillida's  courage  was  of  the  military  sort 
that  rises  with  supreme  difficulty.  She  exhorted  Wilhel 
mina  to  faith,  to  unswerving  belief,  and  then  again  she 
mingled  her  petitions  with  the  sobs  of  the  mother  and 
the  distressful  breathing  of  the  daughter.  This  morning 
Wilhelmina  grew  no  better  after  the  prayer,  and  she  ate 
hardly  two  spoonfuls  of  the  broth  that  was  given  her. 
She  would  not  take  it  from  Phillida  this  time.  Seeing 
prayers  could  not  save  her  and  that  she  must  die,  the  in 
stincts  of  infancy  and  the  memories  of  long  invalidism 
and  dependence  were  now  dominant,  and  she  clung  only 
to  her  mother. 

"You  haf  always  loved  me,  mother;  I  will  haf  no 
body  now  any  more  but  you,  my  mother,  the  time  I  haf 
to  stay  with  you  is  so  short.  You  will  be  sorry,  mother, 
so  sorry,  when  poor  unfortunate  Wilhelmina,  that  has 
always  been  such  a  trouble,  is  gone  already." 

This  talk  from  the  smitten  creature  broke  down  Phil 
lida's  self-control,  and  she  wept  with  the  others.  Then 
in  despondency  she  started  home.  But  at  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs  she  turned  back  and  climbed  again  to  the  top, 


A  BAD  CASE.  301 

and,  re-entering  the  tenement,  she  called  Mrs.  Schulen- 
berg  to  her.  "  You'd  better  get  a  doctor." 

Wilhelmina  with  the  preternaturally  quick  hearing  of 
a  feverish  invalid  caught  the  words  and  said  :  "  No. 
What  is  the  use?  The  doctor  will  want  some  of  poor 
Eudolph's  money.  What  good  can  the  doctor  do  ?  I  am 
just  so  good  as  dead  already." 

"  But,  Wilhelmina  dear,"  said  Phillida,  coming  over  to 
her,  "  we  have  no  right  to  leave  the  matter  this  way.  If 
you  die,  then  Rudolph  and  your  mother  will  say,  '  Ah,  if 
we'd  only  had  a  doctor  ! ' ' 

"  That  is  true,"  gasped  Miria.  "  Send  for  Dr.  Bes- 
wick,  mother. 

A  neighbor  was  engaged  to  carry  the  message  to  Dr. 
Beswick  in  Seventeenth  street,  and  Phillida  went  her  way 
homeward,  slowly  and  in  dejection. 


XXVIII. 
DR.  BESWICK'S  OPINION. 

DK.  BESWICK  of  East  Seventeenth  street  was  a  man 
from  the  country,  still  under  thirty,  who  had  managed  to 
earn  money  enough  to  get  through  the  College  of  Physi 
cians  and  Surgeons  by  working  as  a  school-teacher  between 
times.  Ambitious  as  such  self-lifted  country  fellows  are 
apt  to  be,  he  had  preferred  to  engage  in  the  harsh  com 
petition  of  the  metropolis  in  hope  of  one  day  achieving 
professional  distinction.  To  a  poor  man  the  first  neces 
sity  is  an  immediate  livelihood.  Such  favorite  cross- 
streets  of  the  doctors  as  Thirty-fourth,  and  the  yet  more 
fashionable  doctor-haunted  up-and-down  thoroughfares, 
were  for  long  years  to  come  far  beyond  the  reach  of  a 
man  without  money  or  social  backing,  though  Beswick 
saw  visions  of  a  future.  He  had  planted  himself  in 
Mackerelville,  where  the  people  must  get  their  medical 
advice  cheap,  and  where  a  young  doctor  might  therefore 
make  a  beginning.  The  sweetheart  of  his  youth  had 
entered  the  Training  School  for  Nurses  just  when  he  had 
set  out  to  study  medicine.  They  two  had  waited  long, 
but  she  had  saved  a  few  dollars,  and  at  the  end  of  his 
second  year  in  practice,  his  income  having  reached  a  pre 
carious  probability  of  five  hundred  a  year,  they  had  mar- 


DR.  BESWICK'S  OPINION.  303 

ried  and  set  up  office  and  house  together  in  two  rooms 
and  a  dark  closet.  There  were  advantages  in  this  con 
densed  arrangement,  since  the  new  Mrs.  Beswick  could 
enjoy  the  husband  for  whom  she  had  waited  so  long  and 
faithfully,  by  sitting  on  the  lounge  in  the  office  whenever 
she  had  sedentary  employment — the  same  lounge  that 
was  opened  out  at  night  into  a  bed.  Both  of  the  Bes- 
wicks  were  inured  to  small  and  hard  quarters,  and  even 
these  they  had  been  obliged  to  share  with  strangers; 
since,  therefore,  they  must  lead  a  kind  of  camp  life  in 
the  crowded  metropolis  they  found  it  delightful  to  season 
their  perpetual  picnic  with  each  other's  society.  And, 
moreover,  two  rooms  for  two  people  seemed  by  compari 
son  a  luxury  of  expansion.  When  youth  and  love  go  into 
partnership  they  feel  no  hardships,  and  for  the  present 
the  most  renowned  doctor  in  Madison  Avenue  was  prob 
ably  something  less  than  half  as  happy  as  these  two  lovers 
living  in  a  cubbyhole  with  all  the  world  before  them, 
though  but  precious  little  of  it  within  their  reach  beyond 
two  well-worn  trunks,  three  chairs,  a  table,  and  a  bed 
stead  lounge. 

Dr.  Beswick  was  profoundly  unknown  to  fame,  but  he 
was  none  the  less  a  great  authority  on  medicine  as  well  as 
on  most  other  things  in  the  estimation  of  Mrs.  Beswick, 
and,  for  that  matter,  of  himself  as  well.  He  liked,  as 
most  men  do,  to  display  his  knowledge  before  his  wife, 
and  to  her  he  talked  of  his  patients  and  of  the  good 
advice  he  had  given  them  and  how  he  had  managed  them, 
and  sometimes  also  of  the  mistakes  of  his  competitors; 
and  he  treated  her  to  remarks  on  that  favorite  theme  of 


304  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

the  struggling  general  practitioner,  the  narrowness  of  the 
celebrated  specialists.  When  he  came  back  from  his  visit 
to  Wilhelmina  it  was  with  a  smile  lighting  up  all  that 
was  visible  of  his  face  between  two  thrifty  patches  of  red 
side-whiskers. 

"  The  patient  is  not  very  sick,  I  should  say  from  your 
face,"  was  Mrs.  Beswick's  remark  as  she  finished  sewing 
together  the  two  ends  of  a  piece  of  crash  for  a  towel. 
For  this  towel  the  doctor  had  made  a  kind  of  roller,  the 
night  before,  by  cutting  a  piece  off  a  broken  mop-stick 
and  hanging  it  on  brackets  carved  with  his  jack-knife 
and  nailed  to  the  closet-door.  "  I  can  always  tell  by 
your  face  the  condition  of  the  patient,"  added  Mrs.  Bes- 
wick. 

"  That's  where  you're  mistaken  this  time,  my  love," 
he  said  triumphantly.  "  The  Schulenberg  girl  will  die 
within  two  weeks."  And  he  smiled  again  at  the  thought. 

"  What  do  you  smile  so  for  ?  You  are  not  generally 
so  glad  to  lose  a  patient,"  she  said,  holding  up  the  towel 
for  his  inspection,  using  her  hand  and  forearm  for  a  tem 
porary  roller  to  show  it  off. 

"  Oh !  no ;  not  that,"  he  said,  nodding  appreciatively 
at  the  towel  while  he  talked  of  something  else.  "  I  sup 
pose  I  ought  to  be  sorry  for  the  poor  girl,  and  her  mother 
does  take  on  dreadfully.  But  this  case '11  explode  that 
faith-quackery  if  anything  can.  The  Christian  Science 
doctor,  Miss  Cullender,  or  something  of  the  sort,  made 
her  great  sensation  over  this  girl,  who  had  some  trouble 
in  her  back  and  a  good  deal  the  matter  with  her  nerves." 

"  She's  the  one  there  was  so  much  talk  about,  is  she?" 


DR.  BESWICK'S  OPINION.  305 

asked  Mrs.  Beswick,  showing  more  animation  than  sym 
pathy. 

"Yes;  when  her  mind  had  been  sufficiently  excited 
she  believed  herself  cured,  and  got  up  and  even  walked  a 
little  in  the  square.  That's  what  gave  the  woman  faith- 
doctor  her  run.  I  don't  know  much  about  the  faith- 
doctor,  but  she's  made  a  pretty  penny,  first  and  last,  out 
of  this  Schulenberg  case,  I'll  bet.  Now  the  girl's  going 
to  die  out  of  hand,  and  I  understand  from  the  mother 
that  the  faith-cure  won't  work.  The  faith-doctor's  thrown 
up  the  case." 

"  I  suppose  the  faith-doctor  believes  in  herself,"  said 
the  wife. 

"  Naah ! "  said  the  doctor  with  that  depth  of  con 
tempt  which  only  a  rather  young  man  can  express. 
"  She  ?  She's  a  quack  and  a  humbug.  Making  money 
out  of  religion  and  tomfoolery.  I'll  give  her  a  piece  of 
my  mind  if  she  ever  crosses  my  track  or  meddles  with  my 
patients." 

Crowing  is  a  masculine  foible,  and  this  sort  of  brag  is 
the  natural  recreation  of  a  young  man  in  the  presence  of 
femininity. 

Two  hours  later,  a  frugal  dinner  of  soup  and  bread 
and  butter  having  been  served  and  eaten  in  the  mean 
time,  and  Mrs.  Beswick  having  also  washed  a  double  set 
of  plate,  cup,  saucer,  knife,  and  fork, — there  were  no 
tumblers ;  it  seemed  more  affectionate  and  social  in  this 
turtle-dove  stage  to  drink  water  from  a  partnership  cup, 
— the  afternoon  hung  a  little  heavy  on  their  hands.  It 

was  not  his  day  at  the  dispensary,  and  so  there  was  noth- 
20 


306  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

ing  for  the  doctor  to  do  but  to  read  a  medical  journal 
and  wait  for  patients  who  did  not  come,  while  his  wife 
sat  and  sewed.  They  essayed  to  break  the  ennui  a  little 
by  a  conversation  which  consisted  in  his  throwing  her  a 
kiss  upon  his  hand,  now  and  then,  and  her  responding 
with  some  term  of  endearment.  But  even  this  grew 
monotonous.  Late  in  the  afternoon  the  bell  rang,  and 
the  doctor  opened  the  door.  There  entered  some  one 
evidently  not  of  Mackerelville,  a  modestly  well-dressed 
young  lady  of  dignified  bearing  and  a  gentle  grace  of 
manner  that  marked  her  position  in  life  beyond  mistake. 
Mrs.  Beswick  glanced  hurriedly  at  the  face,  and  then 
made  a  mental  but  descriptive  inventory  of  the  costume 
down  to  the  toes  of  the  boots,  rising  meanwhile,  work  in 
hand,  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Please  don't  let  me  disturb  you,"  said  the  newcomer 
to  the  doctor's  wife ;  "  don't  go.  What  I  have  to  say  to 
the  doctor  is  not  private." 

Mrs.  Beswick  sat  down  again,  glad  to  know  more  of 
so  unusual  a  visitor. 

"  Dr.  Beswick,  I  am  Miss  Callender,"  said  the  young 
lady,  accepting  the  chair  the  doctor  had  set  out  for  her. 
"  I  called  as  a  friend  to  inquire,  if  you  don't  mind  telling 
me,  what  you  think  of  Wilhelmina  Schulenberg." 

When  Dr.  Beswick  had  made  up  his  mind  to  dislike- 
Miss  Callender  and  to  snub  her  on  the  first  occasion  in 
the  interest  of  science  and  professional  self-respect,  he 
had  not  figured  to  himself  just  this  kind  of  a  person.  So 
much  did  she  impress  him  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
necessity  he  felt  to  justify  himself  in  the  presence  of  his 


DR.  BESWICK'S  OPINION.  307 

wife  he  might  have  put  away  his  professional  scruples. 
As  it  was  he  colored  a  little,  and  it  was  only  after  a  visi 
ble  struggle  with  himself  that  he  said : 

"  You  know,  Miss  Callender,  that  I  am  precluded  by 
the  rules  of  the  profession  from  consultation  with  one 
who  is  not  a  regular  practitioner." 

Miss  Callender  looked  puzzled.  She  said,  "  I  did  not 
know  that  I  was  violating  proprieties.  I  did  not  know 
the  rules  were  so  strict.  I  thought  you  might  tell  me  as 
a  friend  of  the  family." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  might  do  that,  dear  ?  "  suggested 
Mrs.  Beswick,  who  felt  herself  drawn  to  this  young  lady, 
for  Miss  Callender  had  won  her  heart  by  an  evident  defer 
ence  for  Dr.  Beswick's  position  and  professional  knowl 
edge,  and  she  was  touched  by  a  certain  sadness  in  the 
face  and  voice  of  the  visitor. 

The  doctor  relented  when  he  found  that  his  wife 
would  sustain  him  in  it. 

"  I  may  answer  your  question  if  you  ask  it  merely  as 
a  friend  of  the  patient,  but  not  as  recognizing  your  stand 
ing  as  a  practitioner,"  he  said. 

Phillida  answered  with  a  quick  flush  of  pain  and  sur 
prise,  "  I  am  not  a  practitioner,  Dr.  Beswick.  You  are 
under  some  mistake.  I  know  nothing  about  medicine." 

"  I  didn't  suppose  you  did,"  said  the  doctor  with  a 
smile.  "But  are  you  not  what  they  call  a  Christian 
Scientist?" 

"  I  ?  I  hate  what  they  call  Christian  Science.  It 
seems  to  me  a  lot  of  nonsense  that  nobody  can  compre 
hend.  I  suppose  it's  an  honest  delusion  on  the  part  of 


308  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

some  people  and  a  mixture  of  mistake  and  imposture  on 
the  part  of  others." 

"  You  have  made  a  pretty  good  diagnosis,  if  you  are 
not  a  physician,"  said  Dr.  Beswick,  laughing,  partly  at 
Phillida's  characterization  of  Christian  Science  and  partly 
at  his  own  reply,  which  seemed  to  him  a  remark  that 
skillfully  combined  wit  with  a  dash  of  polite  flattery. 
"  But,  Miss  Callender, — I  beg  your  pardon  for  saying  it, 
• — people  call  you  a  faith-doctor." 

"  Yes ;  I  know,"  said  Phillida,,  compressing  her  lips. 

"  Did  you  not  treat  this  Schulenberg  girl  as  a  faith- 
healer  ?  " 

"  I  prayed  for  her  as  a  friend,"  said  Phillida,  "  and 
encouraged  her  to  believe  that  she  might  be  healed 
if  she  could  exercise  faith.  She  did  get  much  bet 
ter." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  doctor  in  an  offhand 
way;  "a  well-known  result  of  strong  belief  in  cases  of 
nerve  disease.  But,  pardon  me,  you  have  had  other  cases 
that  I  have  heard  of.  Now  don't  you  think  that  the 
practice  of  faith-healing  for — for — compensation  makes 
you  a  practitioner  ?  " 

"For  compensation?"  said  Phillida,  with  a  slight 
gesture  of  impatience.  "  Who  told  you  that  I  took 
money  ?  " 

It  was  the  doctor's  turn  to  be  confounded. 

"  I  declare,  I  don't  know.  Don't  you  take  pay, 
though?" 

"  Not  a  cent  have  I  ever  taken  directly  or  indirectly." 
Phillida's  already  overstrained  sensitiveness  on  this  sub- 


DR.  BESWICK'S  OPINION.  309 

jeet  now  broke  forth  into  something  like  anger.  "  I 
would  not  accept  money  for  such  a  service  for  the  world," 
she  said.  "  In  making  such  an  unwarranted  presumption 
you  have  done  me  great  wrong.  I  am  a  Sunday-school 
teacher  and  mission  worker.  Such  services  are  not  usu 
ally  paid  for,  and  such  an  assumption  on  your  part  is 
unjustifiable.  If  you  had  only  informed  yourself  better, 
Dr.  Beswick— " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  broke  in  the  doctor.  "  I  didn't 
mean  to  be  offensive.  I — " 

"Indeed,  Miss  Callender,"  said  Mrs.  Beswick,  speak 
ing  in  a  pleasant,  full  voice  and  with  an  accent  that 
marked  her  as  not  a  New  Yorker,  "  he  didn't  mean  to  be 
disrespectful.  The  doctor  is  a  gentleman;  he  couldn't 
be  disrespectful  to  a  lady  intentionally.  He  didn't  know 
anything  but  just  what  folks  say,  and  they  speak  of  you 
as  the  faith-doctor  and  the  woman  doctor,  you  see.  You 
must  forgive  the  mistake." 

This  pleading  of  a  wife  in  defense  of  her  husband 
touched  a  chord  in  Phillida  and  excited  an  emotion  she 
could  not  define.  There  was  that  in  her  own  heart  which 
answered  to  this  conjugal  championship.  She  could  have 
envied  Mrs.  Beswick  her  poverty  with  her  right  to  defend 
the  man  she  loved.  She  felt  an  increasing  interest  in  the 
quiet,  broad-faced,  wholesome-looking  woman,  and  she 
answered : 

"  I  know,  Mrs.  Beswick,  your  husband  is  not  so  much 
to  blame.  I  spoke  too  hastily.  I  am  a  little  too  sensitive 
on  that  point.  I  don't  pretend  to  like  to  be  talked  about 
and  called  a  faith-doctor." 


310  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause,  which  the  doctor  broke 
by  saying  presently  in  a  subdued  voice  : 

"In  regard  to  your  perfectly  proper  question,  Miss 
Callender,  I  will  say  that  the  Schulenberg  young  woman 
has  acute  pulmonary  tuberculosis." 

"Which  means?"  queried  Phillida,  contracting  her 
brows. 

"  What  people  call  galloping  consumption,"  said  the 
doctor.  "Now,  I  can't  help  saying,  Miss  Callender," — 
the  doctor's  habitual  self-contentment  regained  sway  in 
his  voice  and  manner, — "  that  this  particular  sort  of  con 
sumption  is  one  of  the  things  that  neither  medicine  nor 
faith  was  ever  known  to  heal  since  the  world  was  made. 
This  young  woman's  lungs  are  full  of  miliary  tubercles — 
little  round  bodies  the  size  of  a  millet  seed.  The  tissues 
are  partly  destroyed  already.  You  might  as  well  try  to 
make  an  amputated  leg  grow  on  again  by  medicine  or  by 
prayer  as  to  try  to  reconstruct  her  lungs  by  similar  means. 
She  has  got  to  die,  and  I  left  her  only  some  soothing 
medicine,  and  told  her  mother  there  was  no  use  of  mak 
ing  a  doctor's  bill." 

There  was  a  straightforward  rectitude  in  Dr.  Beswick 
that  inclined  Phillida  to  forgive  his  bluntness  of  utter 
ance  and  lack  of  manner.  Here  at  least  was  no  managing 
of  a  patient  to  get  money,  after  the  manner  hinted  at 
by  Miss  Bowyer.  The  distinction  between  diseases  that 
might  and  those  that  might  not  be  cured  or  mitigated  by 
a  faith-process,  which  Phillida  detected  in  the  doctor's 
words,  quickened  again  the  doubts  which  had  begun  to 
assail  her  regarding  the  soundness  of  the  belief  on  which 


DR.  BESWICK'S  OPINION.  311 

% 

she  had  been  acting,  and  awakened  a  desire  to  hear  more. 
She  wanted  to  ask  him  about  it,  but  sensitiveness  regard 
ing  her  private  affairs  made  her  shrink.  In  another 
moment  she  had  reflected  that  it  would  be  better  to  hear 
what  was  to  be  said  on  this  subject  from  a  stranger  than 
from  one  who  knew  her.  The  natural  honesty  and 
courage  of  her  nature  impelled  her  to  submit  further  to 
Dr.  Beswick's  rather  blunt  knife. 

"  You  seem  to  think  that  some  diseases  are  curable  by 
faith  and  some  not,  Dr.  Beswick,"  she  said. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Beswick,  tipping  his  chair  back  and 
drumming  on  the  table  softly  with  his  fingers.  "  We  use 
faith-cure  and  mind-cure  in  certain  diseases  of  the  nerves. 
Nothing  could  have  been  better  for  that  Schulenberg  girl 
than  for  you  to  make  her  believe  she  could  walk.  I 
should  have  tried  that  dodge  myself,  but  in  a  different 
way,  if  I  had  been  called." 

"  Don't  speak  in  that  way,  dear,"  interposed  Mrs.  Bes 
wick,  softly,  seeing  that  Phillida  was  pained. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  that  way?"  said  the 
doctor,  good-naturedly. 

"  Well,  Miss  Callender  will  think  you  are  not  honest 
if  you  talk  about  trying  a  dodge.  Besides,  I'm  sure  Miss 
Callender  isn't  the  kind  of  person  that  would  say  what 
she  didn't  believe.  It  was  no  dodge  with  her." 

"No;  of  course  not,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  didn't 
mean  that." 

"  You  do  not  admit  any  divine  agency  in  the  matter, 
doctor? "asked  Phillida. 

"  How  can  we  ?     The  starting-point  of  that  poor  girl's 


312  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

y  galloping  consumption,  according  to  the  highest  medical 
opinion  of  our  time,  is  a  little  organism  called  a  bacillus. 
These  bacilli  are  so  small  that  ten  thousand  of  them  laid 
in  a  row  lengthwise  would  only  measure  an  inch.  They 
multiply  with  great  rapidity,  and  as  yet  we  can  not  de 
stroy  them  without  destroying  the  patient.  You  might 
just  as  well  go  to  praying  that  the  weeds  should  be  exter 
minated  in  your  garden,  or  try  to  clear  the  Schulenberg 
tenement  of  croton  bugs  by  faith,  as  to  try  to  heal  that 
young  woman  in  that  way.  Did  you  ever  look  into  the 
throat  of  a  diphtheria  patient?" 

"No,"saidPhillida, 

"  Well,  you  can  plainly  see  little  white  patches  of  false 
membrane  there.  By  examining  this  membrane  we  have 
come  to  know  the  very  species  that  does  the  mischief — 
the  micrococcus  diphtheriticus" 

The  conversation  was  naturally  a  little  disagreeable  to 
Phillida,  who  now  rose  to  depart  without  making  reply. 
She  went  over  and  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Beswick,  partly 
from  an  instinctive  kindness,  judging  from  her  speech 
that  she  was  a  stranger  in  New  York.  Besides,  she  felt 
strongly  drawn  to  this  simple  and  loyal-hearted  woman. 

"  If  you'd  like  to  come  to  the  mission,  Mrs.  Beswick," 
she  said,  "  I'd  take  pleasure  in  introducing  you.  You'd 
find  good  friends  among  the  people  there  and  good  work 
to  do.  The  mission  people  are  not  all  faith-healers  like 
me." 

"  Oh,  now,  I'd  like  them  better  if  they  were  like  you, 
Miss  Callender.  I  think  I'd  like  to  go.  I  couldn't  do 
much;  I  have  to  do  my  own  work;  the  doctor's  practice 


DR.  BESWICK'S  OPINION.  313 

is  growing,  but  he  hasn't  been  here  long,  you  know.  I 
think  I  might  go  " — this  with  a  look  of  inquiry  at  her 
husband. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Dr.  Beswick.  He  could  not  help 
seeing  that  the  association  of  his  wife  with  the  mission 
might  serve  to  extend  his  practice,  and  that  even  Mrs. 
Beswick  must  grow  tired  after  a  while  of  conversations 
with  him  alone,  sugared  though  they  were. 

When  Phillida  had  gone  the  doctor's  wife  said  to  her 
husband  that  she  never  had  seen  a  nicer  lady  than  that 
Miss  Callender.  "  I  just  love  her,"  she  declared,  "  if  she 
does  believe  in  faith-healing." 

"  Ah,  well,  what  I  said  to  her  will  have  its  effect,"  he 
replied,  with  suppressed  exultation. 

"  You  said  just  the  right  thing,  my  love.  You  'most 
always  do.  But  I  was  afraid  you  would  hurt  her  feelings 
a  little.  She  doesn't  seem  very  happy." 


XXIX. 
MILLARD  AND  RUDOLPH. 

RUDOLPH,  coming  home  from  work  early  on  the  next 
Saturday  afternoon,  saw  Millard  approaching  from  the 
other  direction.  With  that  appetite  for  sympathy  which 
the  first  dash  of  sorrow  is  pretty  sure  to  bring,  the  young 
man  felt  an  impulse  to  accost  the  person  who  had 
thought  enough  of  his  sister's  sufferings  to  give  her  a 
wheel-chair. 

"  Mr.  Millard  ! " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  you  are  Wilhelmina  Schulenberg's  brother," 
scrutinizing  the  young  man.  "And  how  is  your  sister 
now?" 

Rudolph  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"  She  can  not  live  many  days  already ;  she  will  be 
dying  purty  soon." 

"What?  Sick  again?  Then  Miss  Calender's  cure 
did  not  last." 

"  Ah,  yes ;  her  back  it  is  all  right.  But  you  see  maybe 
praying  is  not  strong  for  such  sickness  as  she  has  now. 
It  is  quick  consumption." 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  Millard. 

"  She  has  been  very  unlucky,"  said  Rudolph.  "  We 
are  all  very  unlucky.  My  father  he  died  when  I  was 


MILLARD  AND  RUDOLPH.  315 

little,  and  my  mother  she  had  to  work  hard,  and  I  soon 
had  also  to  work.  And  then  Whilhelmina  she  got  sick, 
and  it  gave  mother  trouble." 

"  Has  Miss  Callender  seen  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  she  did  not  tell  you  already  ?  "  queried  Ru 
dolph. 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  for  a  long  time,"  said  Millard. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Rudolph,  and  went  no  farther. 

"  Did  she — did  she  not  try  to  make  your  sister  well  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  believing  is  all  good  enough  for  the  back, 
but  it  is  no  good  when  you're  real  sick  insides.  You  see 
it  is  consumption." 

"  Yes ;  I  see,"  said  Millard.  A  rush  of  feeling  came 
over  him.  He  remembered  Mina  Schulenberg  as  she  sat 
that  day  about  a  year  ago — the  day  of  his  engagement — 
near  the  bust  of  Beethoven  in  the  park.  She  had  been 
the  beginning  and  in  some  sense  she  had  been  the  ending 
of  his  engagement.  Millard  walked  away  from  Rudolph 
in  a  preoccupied  way.  Suddenly  he  turned  and  called 
after  him : 

"  I  say— Schulenberg ! " 

The  young  man  faced  about  and  came  back.  Millard 
said  to  him  in  a  low  voice  and  with  feeling :  "  Will  you 
let  me  know  if  your  sister  dies?  Come  straight  to  me. 
Don't  say  anything  about  it,  but  maybe  I  can  show  myself 
a  friend  in  some  way.  Here's  my  address  at  home,  and 
between  nine  and  three  I'm  at  the  Bank  of  Manhadoes." 

Rudolph  said  yes,  and  tried  to  thank  him,  but  Millard 
strode  away,  his  mind  reverting  to  the  poor  girl  whose 
now  fast-withering  life  seemed  to  have  some  occult  rela- 


316  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

tion  to  his  own,  and  thinking,  too,  of  Phillida's  unfalter 
ing  ministrations.  What  mistakes  and  delusions  could 
not  be  forgiven  to  one  so  unwearyingly  good  ?  Why  did 
he  not  share  her  reproach  with  her,  and  leave  her  to  learn 
by  time  and  hard  experience  ?  Such  thoughts  stung  him 
sorely.  And  this  death,  under  her  very  hand,  of  the 
Schulenberg  girl  must  be  a  sore  trial.  Would  she  learn 
from  failure?  Or  would  she  resolutely  pursue  her 
course  ? 

Millard  was  not  a  man  to  lament  the  inevitable. 
Once  he  and  Phillida  had  broken,  he  had  set  out  to  be 
what  he  had  been  before.  But  who  shall  cause  the 
shadow  to  go  backward  upon  the  dial  of  Ahaz?  When 
was  a  human  being  ever  the  same  after  a  capital  passion 
that  he  had  been  before?  Millard  had  endeavored  to 
dissipate  his  thoughts  in  society  and  at  places  of  amuse 
ment,  only  to  discover  that  he  could  not  revolve  again  in 
the  orbit  from  which  he  had  been  diverted  by  the  attrac 
tion  of  Phillida. 

Business,  in  so  far  as  it  engrossed  his  thoughts,  had 
produced  a  temporary  forgetfulness,  and  of  business  he 
now  had  a  great  deal.  Farnsworth,  who  had  contrived  to 
give  everybody  connected  with  the  Bank  of  Manhadoes 
more  uneasiness  than  one  could  reasonably  expect  from  a 
man  whose  vitality  was  so  seriously  impaired,  died  about 
this  time,  just  when  those  who  knew  him  best  had  con 
cluded  that  he  was  to  be  exempted  from  the  common  lot. 
He  died  greatly  regretted  by  all  who  had  known  him,  and 
particularly  by  those  who  had  been  associated  with  him  in 
the  conduct  of  the  bank  from  its  foundation.  So  ran  the 


MILLARD  AND   RUDOLPH.  317 

words  of  the  obituary  resolutions  drafted  by  Masters, 
adopted  by  the  Board  of  Directors  of  the  bank,  printed  in 
all  the  newspapers,  and  engrossed  for  the  benefit  of  his 
widow  and  his  posterity.  Posterity  indeed  gets  more  out 
of  such  resolutions  than  contemporaries,  for  posterity  is 
able  to  accept  them  in  a  more  literal  sense.  Hilbrough's 
ascendency  in  the  bank,  and  his  appreciation  of  Millard, 
in  spite  of  the  latter's  symmetrical  way  of  parting  his 
hair,  the  stylish  cut  he  gave  his  beard,  and  the  equipoise 
with  which  he  bore  his  slender  cane,  procured  the  latter's 
promotion  to  the  vacant  cashiership  without  visible  oppo 
sition.  Meadows  would  have  liked  to  oppose,  but  he 
found  powerful  motives  to  the  contrary ;  for  Meadows 
himself  was  more  and  more  disliked  by  members  of  the 
board,  and  his  remaining  there  depended  now  on  the 
good-will  of  Hilbrough.  He  therefore  affected  to  be  the 
chief  advocate,  and  indeed  the  original  proposer,  of  Mil- 
lard  for  the  place. 

The  advancement  carried  with  it  an  increase  of  dig 
nity,  influence,  and  salary,  which  was  rather  gratifying  to 
a  man  at  Millard's  time  of  life.  It  would  have  proved  a 
great  addition  to  his  happiness  if  he  could  only  have  gone 
to  Phillida  and  received  her  congratulations  and  based  a 
settlement  of  his  domestic  affairs  upon  his  new  circum 
stances.  He  did  plan  to  take  a  larger  apartment  next 
year  and  to  live  in  a  little  better  style,  perhaps  also  to 
keep  horses  ;  but  the  prospect  was  not  interesting. 

While  he  sat  one  evening  debating  such  things  the 
electric  bell  of  his  apartment  was  rung  by  the  conductor 
of  the  freight-elevator,  who  came  to  say  that  there  was  a 


318  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

German  man  in  the  basement  inquiring  for  Mr.  Millard. 
His  name  was  Schulenberg.  Rudolph  had  come  in  by  the 
main  entrance,  but  the  clerk,  seeing  that  he  was  a  work- 
ingman,  had  spoken  to  him  with  that  princely  severity 
which  in  a  democratic  country  few  but  hotel  and  house 
clerks  know  how  to  affect,  and  had  sent  him  packing 
down-stairs,  out  of  sight,  where  he  could  have  no  chance 
to  lower  the  respectability  of  a  house  in  which  dwelt 
scores  of  ^people  whose  names  were  printed  in  the  Social 
Register,  they  subscribing  for  the  same  at  a  good  round 
price. 

Rudolph  had  lost  his  way  two  or  three  times  before  he 
could  find  the  entrance  to  the  lift,  but  at  the  convenience 
of  the  elevator-man  he  was  hoisted  to  Millard's  floor. 
When  he  presented  himself  he  looked  frightened  at  being 
ushered  into  a  place  accessible  only  by  means  of  so  much 
ceremony  and  by  ways  so  roundabout. 

"  Mr  Millard,  my  sister  has  just  died.  You  told  me  to 
tell  you  already,"  he  said,  standing  there  and  grasping  his 
cap  firmly  as  though  it  were  the  only  old  friend  he  had  to 
help  him  out  of  the  labyrinth. 

"  When  did  she  die  ?  "  asked  Millard,  motioning  the 
young  fellow  to  a  chair. 

"  Just  now.     I  came  straight  away." 

"  Who  is  with  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Miss  Callender  and  a  woman  what  lifs  in  the  next 
room." 

Millard  mused  a  minute,  his  vagrant  thoughts  running 
far  away  from  Rudolph.  Then  recovering  himself  he 
said: 


MILLARD  AXD  RUDOLPH.  319 

"  Have  you  money  enough  for  the  funeral  ?  " 

"  I  haf  fifteen  dollars,  already,  that  I  haf  been  puttin' 
in  the  Germania  Spar  Bank  for  such  a  trouble.  I  had 
more  as  that,  but  we  haf  had  bad  luck.  My  uncle  he  will 
maybe  lend  me  some  more." 

"  What  do  you  work  at  ?  " 

"  Mostly  odd  jobs.  I  had  a  place  in  a  lumber-yard, 
but  the  man  he  failed  up  already.  I  am  hopin'  that  I  shall 
get  something  more  steady  soon." 

"  It  will  be  pretty  hard  for  you  to  go  in  debt." 

"  Yes,"  with  a  rueful  shrug.  "  But  we're  unlucky. 
Poor  folks  'mos'  always  is  unlucky  already." 

"  Well,  now,  you  let  me  pay  these  expenses.  Here's 
my  card.  Tell  the  undertaker  to  send  his  bill  to  me.  He 
can  come  to  the  bank  and  inquire  if  he  should  think  it 
not  all  right.  But  don't  tell  anybody  about  it." 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,  very,  very  much,  Mr.  Mil- 
lard  ;  it  will  make  my  mother  feel  a  leetle  better.  And  I 
will  pay  you  wheneffer  I  haf  the  good  luck  to  get  some 
money." 

"  Don't  worry  about  that.  Don't  pay  me  till  I  ask  you 
for  it.  Was  Miss  Callender  with  you  when  your  sister 
died?" 

"  Yes.     Oh,  yes ;  she  is  better  as  anybody  I  effer  see." 

Millard  said  no  more,  and  Rudolph  thanked  him 
again,  put  on  his  cap,  and  went  out  to  try  his  luck  at 
finding  the  door  to  the  freight-elevator  for  a  descent  from 
this  lofty  height  to  the  dark  caves  of  the  basement — 
vaulted  caves  with  mazes  of  iron  pipes  of  all  sizes  over 
head,  the  narrow  passages  beset  by  busy  porters  bearing 


320  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

parcels  and  trunks,  and  by  polyglot  servants  in  dress- coats 
and  white  aprons  running  hither  and  thither  with  trays 
balanced  on  their  finger-tips  and  mostly  quite  above  reply 
ing  to  the  questions  of  a  bewildered  intruder  clad  in 
trousers  of  well-worn  brown  denim. 


XXX. 

PHILLIDA  AND  PHILIP. 

MRS.  GOUVERNEUR  concluded  not  to  try  her  clever 
hand  on  Millard  and  Phillida  again.  Pessimistic  Philip 
could  no  longer  reproach  her  for  having  "blasted  his 
hopes,  for  he  had  a  new  chance  if  he  chose  to  improve  it. 
But  to  improve  any  opportunity  seemed  to  be  out  of 
Philip's  power,  except  perhaps  the  opportunity  to  spend 
his  last  available  dollars  on  a  rare  book.  He  had  of  late 
been  seeking  a  chance  to  invest  some  hundreds  in  a  copy 
of  Captain  John  Smith's  "  Generall  Historic  of  Virginia," 
provided  that  he  could  find  a  copy  with  1624  on  the  title- 
page.  The  1626  was  rare  and  almost,  if  not  exactly,  word 
for  word  the  same  as  the  1624  ;  but  it  would  not  do.  For 
there  were  already  several  twenty-sixes  in  this  country, 
and  there  was  no  fun  in  possessing  a  book  that  two  or 
three  other  people  could  boast  of  having.  When  not  busy 
with  his  books  Philip  was  mostly  crouched  in  an  armchair 
in  his  library,  or  for  a  change  crouched  in  an  armchair  at 
the  Terrapin  Club — in  either  case  smoking  and,  as  his 
mother  believed,  making  profound  reflections  which  might 
one  day  come  to  something.  For  how  could  a  bright- 
minded  man  like  Philip  fail  to  bring  forth  something  of 
21 


322  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

value,  seeing  he  bought  expensive  books  and  gave  so  much 
of  his  time  to  meditation  ? 

That  Phillida  should  be  specially  asked  to  dine  at  her 
aunt's  was  rather  inevitable  under  the  circumstances,  and 
Mrs.  Gouverneur  saw  to  it  that  she  came  when  Philip  was 
at  home  and  when  there  was  no  other  company.  This  ar 
rangement  pleased  Phillida ;  Uncle  Gouverneur  was  dull 
enough,  but  Cousin  Philip  was  always  interesting  in  talk, 
and  a  good  fellow,  if  he  did  spend  his  life  in  collecting 
books  mostly  of  no  particular  value  to  anybody  but  a 
curiosity-hunter,  and  in  poking  good-natured  fun  at  other 
people's  cherished  beliefs. 

The  meal  was  well-nigh  finished  when  Philip  said  to 
his  cousin  who  confronted  him — there  were  only  four  at 
the  table : 

"  Phillida,  I  saw  Mrs.  Maginnis  day  before  yesterday 
at  Mrs.  Benthuysen's.  She  is  still  sounding  your  praises 
as  a  faith-healer,  but  she  confided  to  me  that  a  pious  girl 
and  a  minister's  daughter  ought  not  to  be  proud.  She 
suggested  that  you  didn't  get  that  from  your  father.  '  Her 
pride  comes  from  the  mother's  side,  they  tell  me,'  she 
said.  *  How's  that,  Mr.  Gouverneur  ? '  and  she  laughed  at 
what  she  regarded  a  capital  drive  at  me." 

Phillida  was  not  pleased  at  the  mention  of  Mrs.  Magin 
nis.  Since  the  death  of  Wilhelmina,  two  weeks  before, 
her  mind  had  been  disturbed  as  to  the  substantial  value  of 
faith-cures.  Dr.  Beswick's  rationalism  on  the  subject  rose 
to  trouble  her.  Happily  she  had  not  been  sent  for  to  visit 
any  new  cases,  the  death  of  Wilhelmina,  her  first  notable 
example,  having  a  little  spoiled  the  charm  of  her  sue- 


PHILLIDA  AND  PHILIP. 

cess,  as  Dr.  Beswick  had  foreseen.  Doubt  had  made  her 
cowardly,  and  there  lurked  in  her  mind  a  hope  that  she 
might  no  more  be  called  upon  to  exercise  her  gift  in  the 
direction  of  faith-healing,  and  that  she  might  thus  with 
out  the  necessity  of  a  formal  decision  creep  out  of  respon 
sibility  and  painful  notoriety  in  a  matter  concerning  which 
she  could  not  always  feel  absolutely  sure  of  her  ground. 
To  this  shrinking  the  revolt  of  her  taste  against  such 
getters-on  as  Miss  Bowyer  had  contributed,  for  her  mind 
was  after  all  that  of  a  young  woman,  and  in  a  young 
woman's  mind  taste  is  likely  to  go  for  more  than  logic. 
To  Philip's  words  about  Mrs.  Maginnis  she  only  replied  : 

"  Curious  woman,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  interposed  Mrs.  Gouverneur,  desirous  of  turn 
ing  the  talk  away  from  what  she  saw  was  a  disagreeable 
subject  to  Phillida — "yes;  and  I  don't  see  the  use  of 
taking  such  people  into  society  in  such  a  hurry,  merely 
because  they  are  exceedingly  rich." 

"  Mrs.  Maginnis  is  respectable  enough,"  said  Philip, 
"  and  interesting,"  he  added  with  a  laugh ;  "  and  I 
thought  her  the  most  brilliant  of  the  party  at  Mrs.  Ben- 
thuysen's,  taking  her  diamond  necklace  into  the  account." 

"  Yes ;  no  doubt  she's  entirely  respectable,"  said  Mrs. 
Gouverneur.  "  So  are  ten  thousand  other  people  whom 
one  doesn't  care  to  meet  in  society.  It  seems  to  me  that 
New  York  society  is  too  easy  nowadays." 

"  It's  not  too  easy  toward  the  poor ;  eh,  Phillida  ?  " 

"  That's  no  great  deprivation  to  the  poor,"  said  Phil 
lida.  "  They  could  not  indulge  in  fashionable  amuse 
ments  anyhow,  and  some  of  the  most  sensible  among 


324:  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

them  believe  that  the  families  of  fairly  prosperous  work- 
ingmen  are  happier  and  more  content  than  the  rich." 

"  Certainly  people  in  the  social  world  are  not  exam 
ples  of  peace  of  mind,"  said  Philip.  "  For  me,  now,  I 
would  have  sworn  last  week  that  I  should  be  as  perfectly 
happy  as  a  phoebe-bird  on  a  chimneytop  if  I  could  only 
get  a  John  Smith  of  1624,  which  I've  been  trying  for  so 
long.  But  I  got  it  yesterday,  and  now  I'm  just  miserable 
again." 

"  You  want  something  else  ?  "  queried  Phillida,  laugh 
ing. 

"  Indeed  I  do.  You  see  the  splendid  John  Smith 
looks  lonesome.  It  needs  a  complete  set  of  De  Bry's 
Voyages  to  keep  it  company.  But  I  couldn't  find  a  com 
plete  De  Bry  for  sale  probably,  and  I  couldn't  afford  to 
buy  it  if  I  should  stumble  on  it.  John  Smith  has  eaten 
up  the  remainder  of  my  book  allowance  for  this  year  and 
nibbled  about  two  hundred  dollars  out  of  next  year." 

When  dinner  was  over  Philip  said : 

"  Come  up-stairs,  Phillida,  you  and  mother,  and  see 
my  lovely  old  Captain  Smith  in  the  very  first  edition, 
with  the  fresh-looking  portrait  of  Pocahontas  as  Lady 
Rebecca." 

"  You  go,  Phillida ;  I'll  follow  you  in  a  minute,"  said 
Mrs.  Gouverneur. 

"  The  book  is  of  the  earliest  impression  known,"  went 
on  Philip  with  enthusiasm  as  he  led  the  way  up-stairs  fol 
lowed  by  his  cousin,  "  and  is  perfect  throughout  except 
that  one  page  has  been  mended." 

"  Mended  ?  "  queried  Phillida,  as  she  followed  Philip 


PHILLIDA  AND  PHILIP.  325 

into  his  library  and  sitting  room.  "  Do  they  darn  old 
books  as  they  do  old  stockings  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  it  is  a  regular  trade  to  patch  books." 

Saying  this,  Philip  turned  up  the  gas,  and  then  un 
locked  a  glass  case  which  held  what  he  called  his  "  nug 
gets,"  and  took  down  the  two  precious  volumes  of  the 
bravest  and  boastfullest  of  all  the  Smiths,  laying  them 
tenderly  on  a  table  under  the  chandelier.  Turning  the 
leaves,  he  directed  Phillida's  attention  to  one  that  seemed 
to  have  the  slightest  discoloration  of  one  corner ;  rather 
the  corner  seemed  just  perceptibly  less  time-stained  than 
the  rest  of  the  leaf. 

"  There,"  he  said  ;  "  the  most  skillful  mender  in  Lon 
don  did  that." 

"  Did  what  ?  "  said  Phillida. 

"  Put  on  that  corner.     Isn't  it  a  work  of  art  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  that  anything  has  been  done  there,"  said 
Phillida.  "  The  corner  is  ever  so  little  paler  than  the 
rest,  maybe." 

"  That  is  the  new  piece.  The  mender  selected  a  piece 
of  hand- made  paper  of  similar  texture  to  the  old,  and 
stained  the  new  piece  as  nearly  to  the  tint  of  the  old  leaf 
as  possible.  Then  he  beveled  the  edge  of  the  leaf,  and 
made  a  reverse  bevel  on  the  piece,  and  joined  them  with 
exquisite  skill  and  pains." 

Phillida  held  the  leaf  between  her  and  the  light,  re 
garding  it  with  wonder,  hardly  able  to  believe  that  a  piece 
had  been  affixed. 

"  But,  Philip,  how  did  he  get  a  corner  with  the  right 
printing  on  it  ?  The  line  where  the  two  are  joined  seems 


326  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

to  run  through  the  middle  of  words  and  even  through  the 
middle  of  letters." 

"All  the  letters  and  parts  of  letters  on  the  corner 
were  made  by  the  hand  of  the  mender.  He  has  imitated 
the  ink  and  the  style  of  the  ancient  letters.  Take  this 
magnifying  glass  and  you  may  be  able  to  detect  the  dif 
ference  between  the  hand-made  letters  in  the  new  part 
and  the  printed  ones.  But  to  the  naked  eye  it  is  perfect." 

"  What  a  genius  he  must  be ! "  said  Phillida.  "  I 
should  think  that  the  book  would  be  worth  more  than  if 
it  had  never  been  torn.  Do  they  ever  tear  a  piece  out 
just  for  the  sake  of  mending  it?  " 

"On  the  contrary,  it  would  have  added  fifty  dollars  to 
the  price  of  this  copy  if  the  original  page  had  been  com 
plete,  or  if  it  could  have  been  mended  without  a  possibil 
ity  of  detection — say  by  a  process  of  faith-cure." 

Philip  said  this  laughing,  as  he  set  a  chair  for  Phil 
lida,  and  then  sat  down  himself. 

"I  beg  pardon,  Phillida.  I  oughtn't  to  jest  about 
what  you— feel — to  be  sacred." 

Phillida  colored,  and  compressed  her  lips  a  little. 
Then  she  said  : 

"  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  refuse  to  hear  anything  you 
have  to  say  about  faith-cure,  Philip.  You  evidently  dif 
fer  with  me.  But  I  want  to  know  the  truth ;  and  I — " 
here  Phillida  made  a  long  pause,  smoothing  out  the  folds 
of  her  gown  the  meanwhile.  "I  will  tell  you,  Cousin 
Phil,  that  I  am  not  always  so  confident  as  I  used  to  be 
about  the  matter." 

Mrs.  Gouverneur  looked  into  the  room  at  this  mo- 


PHILLIDA  AND  PHILIP.  327 

ment,  but  perceiving  that  the  conversation  had  taken  on 
a  half-confidential  tone,  she  only  said : 

"  I'll  have  to  leave  you  with  Philip  a  little  longer, 
Phillida.  I  have  some  things  to  see  to,"  and  went  out 
again. 

Philip  went  to  a  drawer  of  rare  old  prints,  and  turned 
them  over  rapidly  until  he  came  to  one  of  Charles  II. 
touching  for  the  king's  evil. 

"  There,"  he  said ;  "  Charles  was  a  liar,  a  traitor  who 
took  money  to  betray  the  interests  of  his  country,  and  a 
rake  of  the  worst.  You  wouldn't  believe  that  he  could 
cure  sickness  by  any  virtue  in  his  royal  touch.  Yet  great 
doctors  and  clergymen  of  the  highest  ranks  certify  in 
credible  things  regarding  the  marvelous  cures  wrought 
by  him.  If  one  might  believe  their  solemn  assertions, 
more  cures  were  wrought  by  him  than  by  any  other  per 
son  known  to  history.  The  only  virtue  that  Charles  pos 
sessed  was  lodged  in  his  finger-tips." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  it?  " 

"The  evidence  of  a  cure  is  the  obscurest  thing  in 
the  world.  People  get  well  by  sheer  force  of  nature  in 
most  cases.  Every  patent  medicine  and  every  quack  sys 
tem  is  therefore  able  to  count  up  its  cures.  Then,  too, 
many  diseases  are  mere  results  of  mental  disturbance  or 
depression.  The  mind  has  enormous  influence  on  the 
body.  I  know  a  doctor  who  cured  a  woman  that  had  not 
walked  for  years  by  setting  fire  to  the  bedding  where 
she  lay  and  leaving  her  a  choice  to  exert  herself  or  be 
burned. 

"  But  there  are  the  cures  by  faith  related  in  the  Bible. 


328  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

I  am  afraid  that  if  I  give  up  modern  cures  I  must  lose 
my  faith  in  miracles,"  said  Phillida.  An  unusual  ten 
derness  in  Philip's  speech  had  dissipated  her  reserve,  and 
she  was  in  a  mood  to  lay  bare  her  heart.  In  this  last  re 
mark  she  disclosed  to  Philip  her  main  difficulty.  With  a 
mind  like  hers  such  things  are  rather  matters  of  associa 
tion  than  of  simple  logic.  Keligion  and  miracles  were 
bound  up  in  the  same  bundle  in  her  mind.  To  reject 
the  latter  was  to  throw  away  the  former,  and  this,  by 
another  habitual  association  in  her  mind,  would  have 
seemed  equivalent  to  the  moral  subversion  of  the  uni 
verse.  On  the  other  hand  she  had  associated  modern 
faith-healing  with  Scripture  miracles;  the  rejection  of 
faith-cures  involved  therefore  a  series  of  consequences 
that  seemed  infinitely  disastrous. 

If  it  had  been  merely  an  abstract  question  Philip 
would  not  have  hesitated  to  reject  the  miraculous  alto 
gether,  particularly  in  any  conversation  in  which  such 
a  rejection  would  have  yielded  interesting  results.  But 
Phillida's  confiding  attitude  touched  him  profoundly. 
After  all,  he  deemed  faith  a  very  good  thing  for  a  woman ; 
unbelief,  like  smoking  and  occasional  by-words,  was  ap 
propriate  only  to  the  coarser  sex. 

"  Well,"  he  replied  evasively,  "  the  Bible  stands  on  a 
very  different  ground.  We  couldn't  examine  the  ancient 
miracles  just  as  we  do  modern  faith-cures  if  we  wished. 
The  belief  in  Bible  miracles  is  a  poetic  and  religious  be 
lief,  and  it  does  not  involve  any  practical  question  of 
action  to-day.  But  faith-healing  now  is  a  matter  of  great 
responsibility." 


PHILLIDA  AND  PHILIP.  329 

Philip  spoke  with  a  tremor  of  emotion  in  his  voice. 
His  cousin  was  sitting  at  the  other  side  of  the  table  look 
ing  intently  at  him,  and  doing  her  best  to  understand  the 
ground  of  his  distinction  between  ancient  and  modern 
miracles,  which  Philip,  agitated  as  he  was  by  a  feeling 
that  had  no  relation  to  the  question,  did  not  succeed  in 
clearing  up  quite  to  his  own  satisfaction.  Abandoning 
that  field  abruptly,  he  said  : 

"  What  I  urge  is  that  you  ought  not  to  trust  too  much 
to  accidental  recoveries  like  that  of  the  Maginnis  child. 
If  faith-healing  is  a  mistake  it  may  do  a  great  deal  of 
harm." 

Phillida's  eyes  fell  to  the  table,  and  she  fingered  a 
paper-weight  with  manifest  emotion. 

"  \Yhat  you  say  in  regard  to  responsibility  is  true, 
Philip.  But  if  you  have  a  power  to  heal,  refusal  is  also  a 
responsibility.  I  know  I  must  seem  like  a  fool  to  the 
rest  of  you." 

"  No,"  said  Philip,  in  a  low,  earnest  voice  ;  "  you  are 
the  noblest  of  us  all.  You  are  mistaken,  but  your  mis 
take  is  the  result  of  the  best  that  is  in  you  ;  and,  by 
George  !  Phillida,  there  is  no  better  in  anybody  that  lives 
than  there  is  in  you." 

This  enthusiastic  commendation,  so  unexpected  by 
Phillida,  who  had  felt  herself  in  some  sense  under  the 
ban  of  her  family,  brought  to  the  parched  and  thirsty 
heart  the  utmost  refreshment.  She  trembled  visibly,  and 
tears  appeared  in  her  eyes. 

"Thank  you,  Philip.  I  know  the  praise  is  not  de 
served,  but  your  kindness  does  me  no  end  of  good." 


330  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

Mrs.  Gouverneur  came  in  at  this  moment.  Phillida's 
eyes  and  Philip's  constraint  showed  her  that  something 
confidential  had  passed  between  them,  and  she  congratu 
lated  herself  on  the  success  of  her  plan,  though  she  could 
not  divine  the  nature  of  the  conversation.  Phillida 
would  not  be  a  brilliant  match  for  Philip  in  a  worldly 
point  of  view,  but  it  had  long  been  a  ruling  principle 
with  Mrs.  Gouverneur  that  whatever  Philip  wanted  he 
was  to  have,  if  it  were  procurable,  and  as  the  husband  of 
such  a  woman  as  Phillida  he  ought  to  be  a  great  deal 
happier  than  in  mousing  among  old  books  and  moping 
over  questions  that  nobody  could  solve.  Besides,  Phillida 
possessed  one  qualification  second  to  no  other  in  Mrs. 
Gouverneur's  opinion — there  could  be  no  question  that 
her  family  was  a  first-rate  one,  at  least  upon  the  mother's 
side.  The  intrusion  of  a  third  person  at  this  moment 
produced  a  little  constraint.  To  relieve  this  Mrs.  Gou 
verneur  felt  bound  to  talk  of  something. 

"  I  scold  Philip  for  wasting  his  time  over  old  books 
and  such  trifles,"  she  said  to  Phillida.  "  I  wish  you  could 
persuade  him  out  of  it." 

"  Trifles  !  "  exclaimed  Philip.  "  Trifles  are  the  only 
real  consolation  of  such  beings  as  we  are.  They  keep  us 
from  being  crushed  by  the  immensities.  If  we  were  to 
spend  our  time  chiefly  about  the  momentous  things,  life 
would  become  unendurable." 

The  conversation  drifted  to  indifferent  subjects,  and 
Philip  talked  with  an  unwonted  gayety  that  caused  Phil 
lida  to  forget  her  anxieties,  while  Mrs.  Gouverneur  won 
dered  what  change  had  come  over  her  son  that  he  should 


PHILLIDA  AND  PHILIP.  331 

feel  so  much,  elation.  The  confidence  and  affection  that 
Phillida  had  exhibited  while  conversing  with  him  this 
evening  consoled  Philip  for  the  misery  of  having  to  live, 
and  his  cheerfulness  lasted  throughout  her  visit.  At  its 
close  he  walked  towards  her  home,  with  her  hand  upon  his 
arm,  in  an  atmosphere  of  hope  which  he  had  not  been  ac 
customed  to  breathe.  At  the  door  Phillida  said : 

"  Good-night,  Cousin  Philip.  Thank  you  for  the  kind 
advice  you  have  given  me.  I  don't  think  I  shall  agree 
with  it,  but  I'll  think  about  it."  Then  in  a  low  voice  she 
added,  "  If  I  have  made  a  mistake  it  has  cost  me  dear — • 
nobody  knows  how  dear." 

After  he  had  left  her  Philip's  buoyancy  declined. 
These  last  words,  evidently  full  of  regrets  as  regarded  her 
relation  with  Charley,  gave  him  a  twinge  of  his  old  jealousy 
and  restored  him  to  his  habitual  discouragement. 


XXXI. 

A  CASE  OF  BELIEF  IN  DIPHTHERIA. 

IT  was  inevitable  that  Phillida  should  turn  Philip's 
talk  over  in  her  mind  again  and  again.  There  were  mo 
ments  when  she  felt  that  her  healing  power  might  be  as 
much  of  a  delusion  as  the  divinity  in  the  touch  of  the 
merry  King  Charles.  There  were  other  times  when  Dr. 
Beswick's  infecting  bacteria  germinated  in  her  imagina 
tion  and  threatened  destruction  to  her  faith,  and  yet  other 
times  when  sheer  repulsion  from  Miss  Bowyer's  cant  of 
metaphysical  and  Christian  therapeutics  inclined  her  to 
renounce  the  belief  in  faith-cure,  which  seemed  somehow 
a  second  cousin  to  this  grotesque  science.  But  the  great 
barrier  remained  ;  in  her  mind  faith-healing  had  associ 
ated  itself  with  other  phases  of  religious  belief,  and  she 
could  find  no  resting-place  for  her  feet  betwixt  her  faith 
and  Philip's  ill-concealed  general  skepticism.  She  did  go 
so  far  as  to  adopt  Philip's  opinion  that  an  exclusive  occu 
pation  of  the  mind  with  the  immensities  rendered  life 
unendurable.  She  came  to  envy  her  cousin  his  eagerness 
over  unreadable  Indian  Bibles,  black-letter  Caxtons,  and 
a  rare  date  on  a  title-page.  She  envied  Millard  the  diver 
sion  that  came  to  him  from  his  interest  in  people,  his  taste 
in  dress,  his  care  for  the  small  proprieties,  his  love  for  all 


A  CASE  OF  BELIEF  IN  DIPHTHERIA.  333 

the  minor  graces  of  life.  Why  should  she  alone  of  the 
three  be  crushed  beneath  the  trip-hammer  of  the  immen 
sities?  But  she  ended  always  as  she  had  begun,  by  re 
verting  to  that  ancestral  spirit  of  religious  strenuousness 
in  which  she  had  been  bred  and  cradled,  and  by  planting 
herself  once  more  upon  the  eleventh  of  Hebrews  and  the 
renowned  victories  of  faith  that  had  been  the  glory  of  the 
Church  in  every  age.  To  leave  this  ground  seemed  to  her 
an  abandonment  by  consequence  of  all  that  was  dearest 
and  noblest  in  life.  JS"or  was  she  aware  that  with  each 
cross-examination  her  hold  on  the  cherished  belief  be 
came  less  firm. 

About  two  weeks  after  her  talk  with  Philip  she  had 
just  concluded  a  fresh  conflict  of  this  sort,  and  settled  her 
self  once  more  in  what  she  intended  should  hereafter  prove 
an  unwavering  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer,  at  least  in 
certain  cases,  even  against  all  sorts  of  bacteria,  when  it 
was  announced  that  Mr.  Martin  wished  to  see  her.  It  was 
eight  o'clock,  and  the  evening  was  a  raw  and  rainy  one  in 
March. 

"  Howdy  do,  Miss  Callender  ?  How's  all  with 
you  ?  "  said  Martin,  when  Phillida  appeared  at  the 
door. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Martin  ?  "  she  said.  "  Won't 
you  come  in  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Martin,  standing  shivering  in 
the  vestibule,  his  solemn  face  looking  neither  more  nor 
less  like  mortuary  sculpture  than  it  ever  did.  "  Mother 
wants  to  know  if  you  won't  come  down  right  away  this 
evening.  Our  Tommy  is  seemingly  sick." 


334:  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR 

"  Seemingly  sick  ? "  asked  Phillida.  "  How  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  He's  got  a  belief  in  a  sore  throat,"  said  Mr.  Martin, 
"  and  he's  seemingly  not  well.  Mother'd  like  to  see  you." 

After  a  moment  of  puzzled  thought  Phillida  compre 
hended  that  this  way  of  speaking  of  disease  was  a  part  of 
the  liturgy  of  Christian  Science.  She  could  not  persuade 
Mr.  Martin  into  the  parlor ;  he  waited  in  the  vestibule 
while  she  got  ready  to  go.  Once  out  on  the  wet  sidewalk 
he  said : 

"  It's  all  the  fault  of  the  infant-class  teacher,  down  at 
the  Mission." 

"  What  is  the  fault  of  the  infant-class  teacher,  Mr. 
Martin  ?  "  asked  Phillida  with  some  surprise. 

"  This  seeming  sore  throat  of  Tommy's." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?    I  don't  understand." 

"  Well,  you  see  she  talked  to  the  children  last  Sunday 
about  swearing  and  other  such  sins  of  speech.  Now  sin 
and  disease  are  cor — what-you-may-call-it.  Tommy  he 
came  home  with  that  big  head  of  his  running  on  the  talk 
about  swearing,  and  in  two  days  here  he  is  with  a — a  belief 
in  a  sore  throat.  If  I  had  my  way  I'd  take  the  children 
out  of  Sunday-school.  But  mother  will  have  her  own 
way,  you  know,  and  I  ain't  anywhere  when  it  comes  to 
anything  like  that." 

Phillida  said  nothing  in  reply  to  this,  and  presently 
Mr.  Martin  began  again : 

"  It  ain't  my  doing,  the  getting  you  to  come  and  pray 
for  Tommy.  I  wanted  somebody  ruther  more  scientific ; 
Miss  Bowyer  she  knows  the  cause  and  effect  of  things. 


A  CASE  OP  BELIEF  IN  DIPHTHERIA.  335 

But  mother  ain't  enlightened  yet,  and  she  declared  up  and 
down  against  Miss  Bowyer.  And  I  declared  up  and  down 
against  doctors  that  can  only  cure  sickness  on  the  mortal 
plane.  So,  you  see,  we  comp'omised  on  you.  But  I  let 
mother  know  that  if  she  would  be  so  obs'inate  ag'inst 
Miss  Bowyer  I  wa'n't  risponsible  for  the  consequences ; 
they'd  be  on  her  head.  She  can't  say  that  I'm  rispon 
sible." 

Phillida  shnddered,  and  made  a  motion  as  of  drawing 
her  sack  more  closely  about  her. 

"  Though  for  that  matter,"  Martin  went  on,  "  Tom 
my's  kind  of  settled  the  thing  himself.  He  declared  up 
and  down  that  he  didn't  want  Miss  Bowyer,  and  he 
declared  up  and  down  he  didn't  want  a  man  doctor. 
What  he  wanted  was  Dick's  Sunday-school  teacher. 
And  neither  one  of  us  kind  of  liked  to  refuse  him  any 
thing,  seeing  he's  sick;  and  so  that  kind  of  settled  it. 
And  so  the  risponsibility'll  be — I  don't  know  where — 
unless  it's  on  you." 

Phillida  found  Tommy  in  a  state  of  restlessness  and 
dullness,  complaining  of  difficulty  in  swallowing.  Mrs. 
Martin  was  uneasy  lest  there  should  be  something  malig 
nant  about  the  attack  ;  but  to  Phillida  the  case  seemed  an 
ordinary  one,  not  likely  to  prove  serious.  She  held  Tom 
my  in  her  arms  for  a  while  and  this  was  a  solace  to  the 
little  fellow.  Then  she  prayed  with  him,  and  at  half- 
past  nine  she  returned  home  leaving  Tommy  sleeping 
quietly.  When  she  neared  her  own  door  she  suddenly 
bethought  her  that  she  had  not  seen  the  other  children. 
She  turned  to  Mr.  Martin,  who  was  walking  by  her  side 


336  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

in  silence  and  with  a  measured  stride  that  would  have 
been  very  becoming  to  an  undertaker,  but  with  which 
Phillida  found  it  quite  impossible  to  keep  step. 

"  I  didn't  see  the  rest  of  the  children,  Mr.  Martin ; 
where  are  they  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  a  neighbor  acrost  the  street  come  over  to-day 
and  took  'em  away.  She  didn't  know  but  it  might  be 
dip'thery." 

"  Have  you  had  any  diphtheria  in  your  neighbor 
hood  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes ;  the  caretaker  of  our  flats  down  on  the 
first  floor  of  the  next  house  lost  a  child  last  week  by 
a  belief  in  dip'thery.  The  neighbor  acrost  the  street 
thought  Tommy  might  have  got  it,  but  we  didn't  believe 
it.  But  it  made  mother  kind  of  uneasy,  and  she  wanted 
to  see  you  or  a  doctor  to-night.  For  my  part,  I  knew 
that  it  was  the  talk  of  the  infant-class  teacher  that  was  at 
the  bottom  of  it,  dip'thery  or  not.  Sin  oughtn't  to  be 
mentioned  to  a  child.  It's  likely  to  break  out  into  a 
belief  about  sickness." 

Phillida's  spirits  suddenly  sank  to  zero.  Alarm  at  the 
responsibility  she  had  taken  got  the  better  of  her  faith  by 
surprise,  and  she  said  : 

"  Mr.  Martin,  get  a  doctor.     It  may  be  diphtheria." 

"  Why,  what  if  it  is  ?  "  said  Mr.  Martin.  "  It's 
better  to  treat  it  on  a  spiritual  plane.  Xo,  I'm  not 
a-going  back  on  my  faith  in  the  very  words  of  the 
Bible." 

"  But,  Mr.  Martin,  I  don't  feel  sure  enough  to  want  to 
be  responsible  for  Tommy's  life.  You  must  get  a  doctor 


A  CASE  OF  BELIEF  IN  DIPHTHERIA.  337 

as  you  go  home.  You  go  almost  past  Dr.  Beswick's  in 
Seventeenth  street." 

"  No,  I  won't  do  that ;  I'd  made  up  my  mind  already 
that  your  treatment  wa'n't  thorough  enough.  You 
haven't  had  the  experience ;  you  haven't  studied  the  na 
ture  of  disease  and  the  cor-what-you-may-call-it  between 
sin  and  sickness.  I'll  call  Miss  Bowyer  if  Tommy  don't 
mend  before  morning." 

Just  then  it  began  to  rain  again.  The  sudden  plash 
of  the  downpour  and  Phillida's  instinctive  impulse  to  get 
quickly  under  shelter  interrupted  the  conversation.  A 
minute  later  Miss  Callender  was  standing  in  the  vestibule 
with  a  weeping  umbrella  in  her  hand,  while  she  heard  Mr. 
Martin's  retreating  footsteps,  no  whit  hurried  by  the  fitful 
gusts  of  rain,  or  the  late  hour,  or  the  illness  at  home. 

She  thought  of  running  after  him,  but  of  what  use 
would  that  be,  seeing  his  obstination  against  treating  dis 
eases  on  the  mortal  plane  ?  She  would  have  liked  to  go 
home  with  him  and  beg  the  mother  to  send  for  a  doc 
tor  ;  but  she  could  not  feel  sure  that  this  would  serve  the 
purpose,  and  while  she  debated  the  rain  came  on  in  driv 
ing  torrents,  and  the  steady  beat  of  Mr.  Martin's  steps 
was  lost  in  the  distance  and  the  rush  of  waters.  In  vain 
she  told  her  mother  that  the  child  did  not  seem  very  ill, 
in  vain  she  told  herself  during  the  night  that  Tommy  had 
only  an  ordinary  cold.  She  was  restless  and  wakeful  the 
night  long ;  two  or  three  times  she  lighted  a  match  and 
looked  at  the  slow-going  clock  on  the  mantelpiece. 

In  that  hour  unbelief  in  the  validity  of  her  cures  came 

into  her  mind  with  a  rush  that  bore  down  all  barriers  be- 

22 


338  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

fore  it.  Her  mind  went  over  to  Dr.  Beswick's  side  of  the 
question,  and  she  saw  her  success  in  some  cases  as  the 
mere  effect  on  the  nervous  system.  In  the  bitterness  of 
something  like  despair  she  thought  herself  a  deluded  and 
culpable  enthusiast,  worthy  of  ridicule,  of  contempt,  of 
condemnation.  There  were  no  longer  any  oscillations  of 
her  mind  toward  the  old  belief ;  the  foundations  of  sand 
had  been  swept  away,  and  there  was  no  space  to  make  a 
reconstruction.  Scarcely  could  she  pray ;  unbelief  tardily 
admitted  threatened  to  revenge  itself  for  the  long  siege  by 
sacking  the  whole  city.  She  was  almost  ready  to  plunge 
into  Philip's  general  skepticism,  which  had  seemed  hith 
erto  a  horrible  abyss.  At  a  quarter  to  five  o'clock  she 
lighted  the  gas,  turning  it  low  so  as  not  to  disturb  the 
others.  She  dressed  herself  quickly,  then  she  wrote  a 
little  note  in  which  she  said : 

I  am  uneasy  about  Mrs.  Martin's  child,  and  have 
gone  down  there.  Back  to  breakfast.  PHILLIDA. 

This  she  pinned  to  Agatha's  stocking,  so  that  it  would 
certainly  be  seen.  Then  she  threw  an  old. gray  shawl 
over  her  hat,  drawing  it  about  her  head,  in  order  to  look 
as  much  as  possible  like  a  tenement-house  dweller  run 
ning  an  early  morning  errand,  hoping  thus  to  escape  the 
curiosity  that  a  well-dressed  lady  might  encounter  if  seen 
on  the  street  at  so  early  an  hour.  The  storm  and  the 
clouds  had  gone,  but  the  air  was  moist  from  the  recent 
rain.  When  she  sallied  forth  no  dawn  was  perceptible, 
though  the  street  lamps  were  most  of  them  already  out 


A  CASE   OP  BELIEF  IN  DIPHTHERIA.  339 

Just  as  the  sky  above  Greenpoint  began  to  glow  and  the 
reeking  streets  took  on  a  little  gray,  Phillida  entered  the 
stairway  up  which  she  stumbled  in  black  darkness  to  the 
Martin  apartment. 

The  Martins  were  already  up,  and  breakfast  was  cook 
ing  on  the  stove. 

"  Is  that  you,  Miss  Callender  ? "  said  Mrs.  Martin. 
"  I  didn't  expect  you  at  this  hour.  How  did  you  get  here 
alone?" 

"  Oh,  well  enough,"  said  Phillida,  "  But  how  is  little 
Tommy?" 

"I'm  afraid  he  is  worse.  I  was  just  trying  to  per 
suade  Mr.  Martin  to  go  for  you." 

"  I  came  to  give  up  the  case,"  said  Phillida,  hurriedly, 
"  and  to  beg  you  to  get  a  doctor.  I  have  done  with  faith- 
cures.  I've  lost  my  faith  in  them  entirely,  and  I'm  afraid 
from  what  Mr.  Martin  told  me  last  night  that  this  is 
diphtheria." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  in  renewed  alarm. 

Mr.  Martin,  who  was  shaving  in  his  shirt-sleeves  near 
the  window,  only  turned  about  when  he  got  the  lather  off 
his  face  to  say :  "  Good-morning,  Miss  Callender.  How's 
things  with  you  ?  " 

Phillida  returned  this  with  the  slightest  good-morn 
ing.  She  was  out  of  patience  with  Mr.  Martin,  and  she 
was  revolving  a  plan  for  discovering  whether  Tommy's 
distemper  were  diphtheria  or  not.  During  her  long  mid 
night  meditations  she  had  gone  over  every  word  of  Dr. 
Beswick's  about  bacteria  and  bacilli.  She  remembered  his 
statement  that  the  micrococcus  dipJitlieriticus  was  to  be 


340  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

found  in  the  light-colored  patches  visible  in  the  throat  of 
a  diphtheria  patient.  At  what  stage  these  were  developed 
she  did  not  know,  but  during  her  hours  of  waiting  for 
morning  she  had  imagined  herself  looking  down  little 
Tommy's  throat.  She  now  asked  for  a  spoon,  and,  hav 
ing  roused  Tommy  from  a  kind  of  stupor,  she  inserted  the 
handle  as  she  had  seen  physicians  do,  and  at  length  suc 
ceeded  in  pressing  down  the  tongue  so  as  to  discover  what 
she  took  to  be  diphtheria  patches  on  the  fauces. 

"  Mrs.  Martin,  I  am  sure  this  is  diphtheria.  You 
must  get  a  doctor  right  away." 

"  I'll  attend  to  that,"  said  Mr.  Martin,  who  had  now 
got  his  beard  off  and  his  coat  on. 

As  he  donned  his  hat  and  went  out  the  door,  Mrs. 
Martin  called  :  "  Father,  you'd  better  get  Dr.  Beswick  " ; 
but  her  husband  made  no  reply  further  than  to  say,  "  I'll 
attend  to  that,"  without  interrupting  for  a  moment  his 
steady  tramp  down  the  stairs. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  "  that  he  has  gone  for 
Miss  Bowyer." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Phillida. 

"  If  he  gets  her  he'll  be  awfully  stubborn.  He  has 
been  offended  that  I  sent  for  you  last  night.  It  touches 
his  dignity.  He  thinks  that  if  he  doesn't  have  his  way 
in  certain  things  he  is  put  out  of  his  place  as  head  of  the 
family." 

Phillida  presently  perceived  that  Mrs.  Martin  was 
shedding  tears  of  apprehension. 

"  My  poor  little  Tommy  !  I  shall  lose  him." 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  hope  not,"  said  Phillida. 


A  CASE  OF  BELIEF  IN  DIPHTHERIA. 

But  Mrs.  Martin  shook  her  head. 

In  about  half  an  hour  Henry  Martin,  with  a  look  that 
came  near  to  being  more  than  usually  solemn,  ushered  in 
Dr.  Eleanor  Arabella  Bowyer,  and  then  sat  himself  down 
to  his  breakfast,  which  was  on  the  table,  without  a  word, 
except  to  ask  Phillida  if  she  wouldn't  have  breakfast,  too, 
which  invitation  was  declined. 

Miss  Bowyer  nodded  to  Phillida,  saying,  "Your 
case  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Phillida ;  "  I  have  no  case.  This  is  a  case 
of  diphtheria." 

"  Case  of  belief  in  diphtheria  ?  "  queried  Miss  Bowyer, 
and  without  waiting  for  an  invitation  she  calmly  poured 
out  a  cup  of  coffee  and  drank  it,  standing.  When  she 
had  finished  the  coffee  and  was  ready  for  business,  Phil 
lida  said  •: 

"Miss  Bowyer,  let  me  speak  with  you  a  moment." 
She  drew  the  psychopathic  healer  over  toward  a  large 
old-fashioned  bureau  that  the  Martins  had  brought  from 
the  country  and  that  seemed  not  to  have  room  enough 
for  its  ancient  and  simple  dignity  in  its  present  close 
quarters.  "  Miss  Bowyer,  this  is  diphtheria.  A  child  in 
the  next  house  died  last  week  of  the  same  disease.  Mrs. 
Martin  wishes  to  call  a  doctor,  a  regular  doctor.  Don't 
you  think  you  ought  to  give  way  to  her  wish  ?  " 

"Not  at  all.  The  father  is  enlightened,  and  I  am 
thankful  for  that.  He  knows  the  mighty  power  of  Chris 
tian  Science,  and  he  does  not  wish  to  have  his  child 
treated  on  the  mortal  plane.  Parents  often  differ  this 
way,  and  I  am  sometimes  supported  by  only  one  of  them. 


342  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

But  I  never  give  way  on  that  account.  It's  a  great  and 
glorious  work  that  must  be  pushed." 

"  But  if  the  child  should  die?"  urged  Phillida. 

"  It's  not  half  so  apt  to  die  if  treated  on  the  spiritual 
plane;  and  if  it  dies  we'll  know  that  we  have  done  all 
that  opportunity  offered.  In  all  such  cases  the  true  phy 
sician  can  only  commend  the  patient  to  the  care  of  a  lov 
ing  Providence,  feeling  assured  that  disorder  has  its  laws 
and  limitations  and  that  suffering  is  a  means  of  develop 
ing  the  inner  nature." 

Having  reeled  this  off  like  a  phrase  often  spoken,  Miss 
Bowyer  walked  over  to  the  bed  where  the  little  lad  lay. 

"  Miss  Bowyer,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  with  an  earnestness 
born  of  her  agony,  "  I  don't  believe  in  your  treatment  at 
all." 

"  That's  not  necessary,"  said  the  doctor  with  a  jaunty 
firmness ;  "  the  faith  of  one  parent  is  sufficient  to  save 
the  sick." 

"This  is  my  child,  and  I  wish  you  to  leave  him 
alone,"  said  Mrs.  Martin. 

"  I  am  called  by  the  child's  father,  Mrs.  Martin,  and 
I  can  not  shirk  my  responsibility  in  this  case." 

"  Please  leave  my  house.  I  don't  want  you  here," 
said  Mrs.  Martin,  with  an  excitement  almost  hysterical. 
"  I  believe  you  are  an  impostor." 

"  I've  often  been  called  that,"  said  Miss  Bowyer,  with 
a  winning  smile.  "Used  to  it.  One  has  to  bear  re 
proach  and  persecution  in  a  Christian  spirit  for  the  sake 
of  a  good  cause.  You  are  only  delaying  the  cure  of  your 
child,  and  perhaps  risking  his  precious  life." 


A  CASE  OF  BELIEF  IN  DIPHTHERIA.  343 

"  Henry,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  "  I  want  you  to  send  this 
woman  away  and  get  a  doctor." 

"  Hannah,  I'm  the  head  of  this  family,"  said  Martin, 
dropping  his  chin  and  looking  ludicrously  impressive. 
But  as  a  matter  of  precaution  he  thought  it  best  to  leave 
the  conflict  to  be  fought  out  by  Miss  Bowyer.  He  feared 
that  if  he  stayed  he  might  find  himself  deposed  from  the 
only  leadership  that  had  ever  fallen  to  his  lot  in  life.  So 
he  executed  a  strategic  move  by  quitting  his  breakfast 
half-finished  and  hurrying  away  to  the  shop. 

Miss  Bowyer  was  now  exultingly  confident  that  noth 
ing  short  of  force  and  a  good  deal  of  it  could  dislodge  a 
person  of  her  psychic  endurance  from  the  post  of  duty. 

She  began  to  apply  her  hands  to  Tommy's  neck,  but 
as  there  was  external  soreness,  the  little  lad  wakened  and 
cried  for  his  mother  and  "  the  teacher,"  as  he  called  Phil- 
lida. 

Mrs.  Martin  approached  him  and  said :  u  Miss  Bow 
yer,  this  is  my  child ;  stand  aside." 

"  Not  at  all,  Mrs.  Martin.  You  are  doing  your  child 
harm,  and  you  ought  to  desist.  If  you  continue  to  agi 
tate  him  in  this  way  the  consequences  will  be  fatal." 

Certainly  an  affray  over  Tommy's  bed  was  not  desir 
able  ;  the  more  so  that  no  force  at  present  available  could 
expel  the  tenacious  scientist.  Phillida,  who  somehow 
felt  frightfully  accountable  for  the  state  of  affairs, 
beckoned  Mrs.  Martin  to  the  landing  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  closing  the  door  of  the  apartment  behind  them. 
But  even  there  the  hoarse  and  piteous  crying  of  Tommy 
rent  the  hearts  of  both  of  them. 


344:  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"You  must  send  for  Mr.  Millard,"  said  Phillida. 
"  He  will  have  authority  with  Mr.  Martin,  and  he  will 
know  how  to  get  rid  of  her,"  pointing  through  the  door 
in  the  direction  in  which  they  had  left  Miss  Bowyer 
bending  over  the  patient. 

;c  There  is  nobody  to  send,"  answered  Mrs.  Martin,  in 
dismay. 

"I  will  send,"  said  Phillida,  They  re-entered  the 
room,  and  Phillida  put  on  her  sack  in  haste,  seizing  her 
hat  and  hurrying  down  the  long  flight  of  stairs  into  Ave 
nue  C,  where  the  sidewalks,  steaming  after  the  yester 
day's  rain,  were  peopled  by  men  on  their  way  to  work, 
and  by  women  and  children  seeking  the  grocery-stores 
and  butcher-shops  Loiterers  were  already  gathering,  in 
that  slouching  fashion  characteristic  of  people  out  of 
work,  about  the  doors  of  the  drinking-saloons ;  buildings 
whose  expensive  up-fittings  lent  a  touch  of  spurious  grand 
eur  to  the  pinched  and  populous  avenue. 


XXXII. 
FACE  TO  FACE. 

ONCE  in  the  street,  Phillida's  perplexities  began.  She 
had  undertaken  to  send  for  Millard,  but  there  were  no  slow- 
footed  district  Mercuries  to  be  had  in  the  Mackerelville 
part  of  New  York.  It  was  now  barely  half-past  six,  and 
Millard  would  hardly  have  risen  yet.  In  a  battle  against 
grim  death  and  Miss  Bowyer  time  seemed  all  important. 
She  therefore  took  a  Fourteenth  street  car  and  changed 
to  an  up-town  line  carrying  her  to  the  vicinity  of  the 
Graydon,  debating  all  the  way  how  quickest  to  get  an 
explicit  message  to  Millard  without  a  personal  interview, 
which  would  be  painful  to  both,  and  which  might  be  mis 
construed.  Phillida  alighted  from  the  car  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  the  Graydon,  whose  mountainous  dimensions 
deflected  the  March  wind  into  sudden  and  disagreeable 
backsets  and  whirling  eddies  that  threatened  the  perpen 
dicularity  of  foot-passengers.  She  requested  a  florist, 
who  was  opening  his  shop  and  arranging  a  little  exhi 
bition  of  the  hardier  in-door  plants  on  the  sidewalk,  to 
direct  her  to  a  district  telegraph  office,  and  was  referred 
to  one  just  around  the  corner.  To  this  always  open  place 
she  walked  as  rapidly  as  possible,  to  find  a  sleepy-looking 
young  woman  just  settling  herself  at  the  desk,  having  at 


346  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

that  moment  relieved  the  man  who  had  been  on  duty  all 
night. 

"  Can  you  give  me  a  messenger  right  away  ?  "  she  de 
manded. 

"  In  about  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  we'll  have  one 
in,"  said  the  girl.  "  We  don't  keep  but  two  on  duty  at 
this  hour,  and  they're  both  out,  and  there's  one  call  ahead 
of  you.  Take  a  seat,  won't  you  ?  " 

But  Phillida  saw  in  her  imagination  Mrs.  Martin 
badgered  by  Eleanor  Bowyer,  and  heard  again  the  griev 
ous  cry  of  the  frightened  and  suffering  Tommy.  After 
all,  she  could  only  make  the  matter  understood  imper 
fectly  by  means  of  a  message.  Why  should  she  stand  on 
delicacy  in  a  matter  of  life  and  death  ?  She  reflected  that 
there  was  no  animosity  between  her  and  Millard,  and  she 
recalled  his  figure  as  he  reached  his  hand  to  her  that 
fatal  evening,  and  she  remembered  the  emotion  in  his 
voice  when  he  said,  "  Part  friends  ?  "  She  resolved  to  go 
in  person  to  the  Graydon. 

The  entrance  to  the  apartment  building  displayed  a 
good  deal  of  that  joint- stock  grandeur  which  goes  for 
much  and  yet  costs  each  individual  householder  but  little. 
Despite  her  anxiety,  Phillida  was  so  far  impressed  by  the 
elaborate  bronze  mantelpiece  over  the  great  hall  fireplace, 
the  carved  wooden  seats,  and  the  frescoing  and  gilding  of 
the  walls,  as  to  remember  that  she  was  dressed  for  a  tene 
ment  in  Avenue  C,  and  not  for  a  west-side  apartment 
house.  The  gray  shawl  she  had  left  behind ;  but  she  felt 
sure  that  the  important-looking  hall  boys  and,  above  all, 
the  plump  and  prosperous-seeming  clerk  at  the  desk, 


FACE  TO   FACE.  347 

with,  an  habitually  neutral  expression  upon  his  counte 
nance,  must  wonder  why  a  woman  had  intruded  into  the 
sacred  front  entrance  in  so  plain  a  hat  and  gown  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  She  felt  in  her  pocket  for  her 
card-case,  but  of  course  that  had  been  left  in  the  pocket 
of  a  better  dress,  and  she  must  write  upon  one  of  those 
little  cards  that  the  house  furnishes ;  and  all  this  while 
the  clerk  would  be  wondering  who  she  was.  But  there 
was  a  native  self-reliance  about  Phillida  that  shielded  her 
from  contempt.  She  asked  for  the  card,  took  up  a  pen, 
and  wrote : 

"Miss  Callender  wishes  to  see  Mr.  Millard  in  great 
haste,  on  a  matter  of  the  utmost  importance." 

She  was  about  to  put  this  into  an  envelop,  but  she  re 
flected  that  an  open  message  was  better.  She  handed  the 
card  to  the  clerk,  who  took  it  hesitatingly,  and  with  a 
touch  of  "  style  "  in  his  bearing,  saying,  "  Mr.  Millard  will 
not  be  down  for  half  an  hour  yet.  He  is  not  up.  Will 
you  wait  ?  " 

"  He  must  be  called,"  said  Phillida.  "  It  is  a  matter 
of  life  and  death." 

The  clerk  still  held  the  note  in  his  hand. 

"  He  will  be  very  much  annoyed  if  that  is  not  deliv 
ered  to  him  at  once.  It  is  his  own  affair,  and,  as  I  said, 
a  matter  of  life  and  death,"  said  Phillida,  speaking  per 
emptorily,  her  courage  rising  to  the  occasion. 

The  clerk  still  held  the  note.  He  presently  beckoned 
to  a  negro  boy  sitting  on  one  of  the  carved  benches. 

"  Washington,"  he  said. 

Washington  came  forward  to  the  counter. 


348  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  Wash,"  said  the  clerk  in  an  undertone — an  undress 
tone  kept  for  those  upon  whom  it  would  have  been  useless 
to  waste  his  habitual  bearing  as  the  representative  of  the 
corporate  proprietorship  of  the  building — "has  Mr.  Mil- 
lard's  man  come  in  yet  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Take  this  up  to  seventy-nine,  and  say  that  the  lady  is 
below  and  insists  on  his  being  called  at  once."  Then  to 
Phillida,  as  the  form  of  Washington  vanished  upward  by 
way  of  the  marble  staircase,  "  Will  you  take  a  seat  in  the 
reception-room  ? "  waving  his  hand  slightly  in  the  direc 
tion  of  a  portiere,  behind  which  Phillida  found  herself  in 
the  ladies'  reception-room. 

In  ten  minutes  Millard  came  down  the  elevator,  glanced 
about  the  office,  and  then  quickly  entered  the  reception- 
room.  There  were  unwonted  traces  of  haste  in  his  toilet ; 
his  hair  had  been  hastily  brushed,  but  it  had  been  brushed, 
as  indeed  it  would  probably  have  been  if  Washington  had 
announced  that  the  Graydon  was  in  flames. 

There  was  a  moment  of  embarrassment.  What  man 
ner  was  proper  for  such  a  meeting  ?  It  would  not  do  to 
say  "  Phillida,"  and  "  Miss  Callender  "  would  sound  forced 
and  formal.  Phillida  was  equally  embarrassed  as  she  came 
forward,  but  Millard's  tact  relieved  the  tension.  He  spoke 
in  a  tone  of  reserve  and  yet  of  friendliness. 

"  Good-morning.  I  hope  no  disaster  has  happened  to 
you."  The  friendly  eagerness  of  this  inquiry  took  off  the 
brusqueness  of  omitting  her  name,  and  the  anxiety  that 
prompted  it  was  siucere. 

"  There  is  no  time  for  explanations,"  said  Phillida, 


FACE   TO    FACE.  349 

hurriedly.  "Mr.  Martin  lias  called  a  Christian  Science 
healer  to  see  Tommy,  who  is  very  ill  with  diphtheria." 

"  Tommy  has  diphtheria?  "  said  Millard,  his  voice  show 
ing  feeling. 

"  Your  aunt  wants  a  doctor,"  continued  Phillida,  "  but 
Mr.  Martin  has  left  the  woman  in  charge,  and  she  refuses 
to  give  up  the  case.  Tommy  is  crying,  and  Mrs.  Martin  is 
in  a  horrible  position  and  wants  to  see  you."  Here  Phil- 
lida's  eyes  fell  as  she  added,  "  There  was  nobody  to  send ; 
I  couldn't  get  a  messenger  ;  and  so  I  had  to  come  myself." 

"  I  am  glad — "  here  Millard  paused  and  began  over — 
"  You  did  the  best  thing  to  come  yourself.  You  will  ex 
cuse  me,  but  I  don't  understand.  You  haven't  charge  of 
the  case  at  all,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Charley — Mr.  Millard ;  there  is  no  time  to 
explain.  Get  a  good  doctor,  and  put  Miss  Bowyer  out,  if 
you  have  to  fetch  a  policeman.  Get  a  good  doctor  at  once. 
If  you  save  the  child  you  must  be  quick,  quick  !  The  hor  • 
rible  woman  will  be  the  death  of  him." 

Millard  caught  the  infection  of  urgency  and  began  to 
take  in  the  situation.  He  stepped  to  the  door,  drew  aside 
the  portiere,  and  said  : 

t;  Washington,  call  a  coupe  for  me.  Quick,  now." 
Then  he  called  aftei  the  boy  as  he  went  to  the  telephone, 
"  Tell  them  to  hurry  it  up." 

He  turned  towards  Phillida ;  then  with  a  new  impulse 
he  turned  again  and  walked  impatiently  to  the  office. 
"  Mr.  Oliver,  won't  you  ask  if  my  man  is  below,  and  send 
him  here  as  quickly  as  possible  ?  " 

The  clerk  moved,  without  ruffling  his  dignity  by  un- 


350  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

due  haste,  to  the  speaking-tube  which  communicated  with 
the  basement.  In  the  course  of  half  a  minute  a  young 
Englishman,  with  a  fore-and-aft  cap  in  his  hand,  came 
running  to  the  reception-room,  in  the  door  of  which  Mil- 
lard  was  standing. 

"  Eobert,"  said  Millard,  "  run  to  the  stable  and  have 
them  send  my  coupe  on  the  jump.  Come  back  with  it 
yourself." 

The  well-trained  Robert  glided  swiftly  out  of  the  front 
door,  not  even  asking  a  question  with  his  eyes. 

"  You'll  go  back  with  me  in  the  coupe  ?  "  Millard  said 
to  Phillida,  who  had  risen  and  now  stood  waiting  in  em 
barrassment  to  say  good-morning. 

Phillida  could  not  for  a  moment  think  of  driving  back 
with  Millard,  not  so  much  on  account  of  the  conventional 
impropriety  in  it  as  because  her  visit  was  capable  of  mis 
construction  ;  and  while  she  believed  that  Millard  knew 
her  too  well  to  put  any  interpretation  of  self-interest  on 
her  coming,  she  could  not  have  brought  herself  to  return 
to  Avenue  C  in  his  coupe.  If  for  no  other  reason,  she 
would  have  declined  in  order  to  avoid  prolonging  an  in 
terview  painful  and  embarrassing  to  both.  She  was  worn 
and  faint  from  the  fatigues  of  the  night  and  the  excite 
ment  of  the  morning,  and  she  could  not  think  of  the  right 
thing  to  say. 

"  No  ;  I  will  go  home,"  she  said.  Spoken  thus,  with 
out  calling  him  by  name,  the  words  had  a  severe  sound,  as 
of  one  mortally  offended.  A  sudden  access  of  fatigue  and 
faintness  reminded  her  that  she  had  eaten  nothing  this 
morning. 


FACE  TO  FACE.  351 

"  You  will  excuse  me.  I've  had  no  breakfast  yet.  I've 
been  at  Mrs.  Martin's  since  daylight.  Good-morning,  Mr. 
Millard." 

This  explanation  made  her  perfectly  proper  refusal 
somewhat  less  abrupt  and  direct ;  but  the  words  were  still 
cold  and  severe. 

"  I  will  call  another  coupe,  and  send  you  home.  You 
are  faint,"  he  said. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  said,  and  went  out. 

But  Millard  followed  her  into  the  street,  and  hailed  a 
car,  and"  assisted  her  to  enter  it,  and  lifted  his  hat  and 
bowed  in  response  to  her  "  Thank  you,"  when  she  had 
gained  the  platform.  As  the  car  moved  away  he  stood  a 
moment  looking  after  it,  and  then  returned  toward  the 
sidewalk,  saying  softly  to  himself,  "  By  Jove,  what  a 
woman  !  What  a  woman  that  is  ! " 


XXXIII. 
A  FAMOUS  VICTORY. 

BY  the  time  the  coupe  reached  the  curb  in  front  of 
the  Graydon,  Millard  had  fixed  in  his  mind  the  first 
move  in  his  campaign,  and  had  scribbled  a  little  note  as 
he  stood  at  the  clerk's  counter  in  the  office.  Handing 
the  driver  a  dollar  as  a  comprehensible  hint  that  speed 
was  required,  and,  taking  Robert  with  him,  he  was  soon 
bowling  along  the  yet  rather  empty  Fifth  Avenue.  He 
alighted  in  front  of  a  rather  broad,  low-stoop,  brown- 
stone  house,  with  a  plain  sign  upon  it,  which  read  "  Dr. 
Augustine  Gunstone."  What  ills  and  misfortunes  had 
crossed  that  door  -  stone !  What  celebrities  had  here 
sought  advice  from  the  great  doctor  in  matters  of  life  and 
death !  Few  men  can  enjoy  a  great  reputation  and  be 
so  unspoiled  as  Dr.  Gunstone.  The  shyest  young  girl 
among  his  patients  felt  drawn  to  unburden  her  sorrows  to 
him  as  to  a  father ;  the  humblest  sufferer  remembered 
gratefully  the  reassuring  gentleness  of  his  voice  and  man 
ner.  But  Millard  made  no  reflections  this  morning ;  he 
rang  the  bell  sharply. 

"  The  doctor  hasn't  come  down  yet,"  said  the  servant. 
"  He  will  not  see  patients  before  nine  o'clock." 

"At  what  time  does  he  come  down?" 


A  FAMOUS  VICTORY.  353 

"  At  a  quarter  to  eight." 

"It's  half -past  seven  now,"  said  Millard.  "Kindly 
take  this  note  to  his  room  with  my  card,  and  say  that  I 
wait  for  an  answer." 

There  was  that  in  Millard's  manner  that  impressed 
the  servant.  He  was  sure  that  this  must  be  one  of  those 
very  renowned  men  who  sometimes  came  to  see  Dr.  Gun- 
stone  and  who  were  not  to  be  refused.  He  ran  up  the 
stairs  and  timidly  knocked  at  the  doctor's  door.  Millard 
waited  five  minutes  in  a  small  reception-room,  and  then 
the  old  doctor  came  down,  kindly,  dignified,  unruffled  as 
ever,  a  man  courteous  to  all,  friendly  with  all,  but  with 
out  any  familiars. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Millard.  I  can't  see  your  pa 
tient  now.  Every  moment  of  my  time  to-day  is  engaged. 
Perhaps  I  might  contrive  to  see  the  child  on  my  way  to 
the  hospital  at  twelve." 

"  If  I  could  have  a  carriage  here  at  the  moment  you 
finish  your  breakfast,  with  my  valet  in  it  to  see  that  no 
time  is  lost,  could  you  give  us  advice,  and  get  back  here 
before  your  office  hours  begin  ?  " 

Dr.  Gunstone  hesitated  a  moment.  "Yes,"  he  said; 
"  but  you  would  want  a  doctor  in  the  vicinity.  I  can  not 
come  often  enough  to  take  charge  of  the  case." 

"  We'll  call  any  one  you  may  name.     The  family  are 
poor,  I  am  interested  in  them,  they  are  relatives  of  mine, 
and  this  child  I  have  set  my  heart  on  saving,  and  I  will 
not  mind  expense.     I  wish  you  to  come  every  day  as  con 
sultant,  if  possible." 

Dr.  Gunstone's  was  a  professional  mind  before   all. 

23 


354  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

He  avoided  those  profound  questions  of  philosophy  to 
ward  which  modern  science  propels  the  mind,  limiting 
himself  to  the  science  of  pathology  and  the  art  of  heal 
ing.  On  the  other  hand,  he  habitually  bounded  his  curi 
osity  concerning  his  patients  to  their  physical  condition 
and  such  of  their  surroundings  as  affected  for  good  or  ill 
their  chances  of  recovery.  He  did  not  care  to  know 
more  of  this  poor  family  than  that  he  was  to  see  a  pa 
tient  there  ;  but  he  knew  something  of  Millard  from 
the  friendly  relations  existing  between  him  and  younger 
members  of  his  own  family,  and  the  disclosure  that  Mil- 
lard  had  kinsfolk  in  Avenue  C,  and  was  deeply  inter 
ested  in  people  of  a  humble  rank,  gave  Dr.  Gunstone  a 
momentary  surprise,  which,  however,  it  would  have  been 
contrary  to  all  his  habits  to  manifest.  He  merely  bowed 
a  polite  good-morning  and  turned  toward  the  breakfast- 
room. 

These  men,  in  whose  lives  life  and  death  are  matters 
of  hourly  business — matters  of  bread  and  butter  and 
bank-account — acquire  in  self-defense  a  certain  impervi- 
ousness;  they  learn  to  shed  their  responsibilities  with 
facility  in  favor  of  digestion  and  sleep.  Dr.  Gunstone 
ate  in  a  leisurely  way,  relishing  his  chops  and  coffee,  and 
participating  in  the  conversation  of  the  family,  who  joined 
him  one  by  one  at  the  table.  It  did  not  trouble  him 
that  another  family  in  Avenue  C  was  in  agonized  waiting 
for  his  presence,  and  that  haste  or  delay  might  make  the 
difference  between  life  and  death  to  a  human  being.  This 
was  not  heartlessness,  but  a  condition  of  his  living  and 
working — a  postponement  of  particular  service,  however 


A   FAMOUS  VICTORY.  355 

important,  in  favor  of  the  general  serviceableness  of  his 
life. 

Millard  was  not  sorry  for  the  delay ;  it  gave  him  time 
to  dispose  of  Miss  Bowyer. 

Seeing  that  Phillida  had  gone  to  seek  re-enforcements, 
Mrs.  Martin  had  concluded  that,  in  Tommy's  interest,  a 
truce  would  be  the  better  thing.  So,  while  Miss  Bowyer 
was  seeking  to  induce  in  little  Tommy  the  impressible 
conscious  state — or,  to  be  precise,  the  conscious,  passive, 
impressible  state — Mrs.  Martin  offered  to  hold  him  in  her 
arms.  To  this  the  metaphysical  healer  assented  with 
alacrity,  as  likely  to  put  the  child  into  a  favorable 
condition  for  the  exercise  of  her  occult  therapeutic 
powers. 

"  Hold  him  with  his  back  to  the  north,  Mrs.  Martin," 
she  said ;  "  there,  in  a  somewhat  reclining  posture ;  that 
will  increase  his  susceptibility  to  psychic  influence.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  the  magnetism  of  the  earth  has  a  polar 
distribution.  It  is  quite  probable  also  that  the  odylic 
emanation  of  the  terrestrial  magnet  has  also  a  polar  ar 
rangement.  Does  the  little  fellow  ever  turn  round  in  his 
bed  at  night?" 

"Yes." 

"That  shows  that  he  is  sensitive  to  magnetic  influ 
ences.  He  is  trying  to  get  himself  north  and  south,  so  as 
to  bring  the  body  into  harmony  with  the  magnetic  poles 
of  the  earth.  You  see  the  brain  is  normally  positive. 
We  wish  to  invert  the  poles  of  the  body,  and  send  the 
magnetism  of  the  brain  to  the  feet." 

Miss  Bowyer  now  took  out  a  small  silver  cross  and 


356  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

held  it  up  before  the  child  a  little  above  the  natural  range 
of  vision. 

"  Will  you  look  at  this,  little  boy  ?  "  she  said. 

She  did  her  best  to  make  her  naturally  unsympathetic 
voice  persuasive,  even  to  pronouncing  the  last  word  of  her 
entreaty  "  baw-ee."  But  the  "  little  baw-ee  "  was  faint 
with  sickness,  and  he  only  lifted  his  eyes  a  moment  to  the 
trinket,  and  then  closed  the  eyelids  and  turned  his  face 
toward  his  mother's  bosom. 

"  Come,  little  baw-ee.  Look  at  this,  my  child.  Isn't 
it  pretty  ?  Little  baw-ee,  see  here  ! " 

But  the  little  baw-ee  wanted  rest,  and  he  showed  no 
signs  of  having  heard  Miss  Bowyer's  appeal,  except  that 
he  fretted  with  annoyance  after  each  sentence  she  ad 
dressed  to  him. 

"  That  is  bad,"  said  Miss  Bowyer,  seeing  that  Tommy 
would  not  look.  "  If  I  could  get  him  to  strain  the  eyes 
upward  for  five  minutes,  while  I  gazed  at  him  and  con 
centrated  my  mind  on  the  act  of  gazing,  I  should  be  able 
to  produce  what  is  known  in  psychopathic  science  as  the 
conscious  impressible  state — something  resembling  hyp 
notism,  but  stopping  short  of  the  unconscious  state.  I 
could  make  him  forget  his  disease  by  willing  forgetful- 
ness.  I  must  try  another  plan." 

Miss  Bowyer  now  sat  and  gazed  on  the  child,  who  was 
half-slumbering.  For  five  minutes  she  sat  there  like  a 
cat  ready  to  jump  at  the  first  movement  of  a  moribund 
mouse.  Apparently  she  was  engaged  in  concentrating 
her  mind  on  the  act  of  gazing. 

"Now,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Martin  in  a  whisper — for 


A  FAMOUS  VICTORY.  357 

explication  was  a  necessity  of  Miss  Bowyer's  nature,  or 
perhaps  essential  to  the  potency  of  her  measures—"  now 
I  will  gently  place  the  right  hand  on  the  fore  brain  and 
the  left  over  the  cerebellum,  willing  the  vital  force  of  the 
cerebrum  to  retreat  backward  to  the  cerebellum.  This  is 
the  condition  of  the  brain  in  the  somnambulic  state  and 
in  ordinary  sleep.  The  right  hand,  you  must  know,  acts 
from  without  inward,  while  the  left  acts  from  within 
outward."  She  suited  the  action  to  the  words ;  but  Tom 
my  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  action  of  her  right  hand 
from  without  inward,  or  else  he  was  annoyed  by  the  action 
of  the  left  hand  from  within  outward.  Evidently  Miss 
Bowyer's  positive  and  negative  poles  failed  to  harmonize 
with  his.  He  put  up  his  hands  to  push  away  her  positive 
and  negative  poles ;  but  finding  that  impossible,  he  kicked 
and  cried  in  a  way  which  showed  him  to  be  utterly  out  of 
harmony  with  the  odylic  emanations  of  the  terrestrial 
magnet. 

With  these  and  other  mummeries  Miss  Bowyer  pro 
ceeded  during  all  the  long  hour  and  a  quarter  that  inter 
vened  between  Phillida's  departure  and  the  arrival  of  the 
reinforcement.  Miss  Bowyer  was  wondering  meanwhile 
what  could  have  been  the  nature  of  Phillida's  conference 
outside  the  door  with  Mrs.  Martin,  and  whether  Mrs. 
Martin  were  sufficiently  convinced  of  her  skill  by  this  time 
for  her  to  venture  to  leave  the  place  presently  to  meet 
certain  office  patients  whom  she  expected.  But  she  con 
cluded  to  run  no  risks  of  defeat ;  she  had  left  word  at  her 
office  that  she  had  been  called  to  see  a  patient  dangerously 
ill,  and  such  a  report  would  do  her  reputation  no  harm. 


358  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

Mrs.  Martin  was  driven  to  the  very  verge  of  dis 
traction  by  the  sense  of  Tommy's  danger  and  the  neces 
sity  she  was  under  of  suppressing  her  feelings  while  this 
woman,  crank  or  impostor,  held  possession  of  the  child 
and  of  her  house.  Not  to  disturb  Tommy,  she  affected  a 
peaceful  attitude  toward  the  professor  of  Christian  sor 
cery,  whom,  in  the  anguish  of  her  spirit,  she  would  have 
liked  to  project  out  of  a  window  into  the  dizzy  space  oc 
cupied  by  pulleys  and  clothes-lines.  Footsteps  came  and 
went  past  her  door,  but  there  was  as  yet  no  interruption 
to  Miss  Bowyer's  pow-wow.  At  length  there  came  a  step 
on  the  stairs,  and  a  rap.  Mrs.  Martin  laid  Tommy  on 
the  bed  and  opened  the  door.  Charley  beckoned  her  to 
be  silent  and  to  come  out. 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  faith-healer,  Aunt  Han 
nah  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Miss  Bowyer." 

"  Does  she  still  refuse  to  leave  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !     She  declares  she  will  not  leave." 

"  You  want  her  out  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  want  a  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  giving  her 
hands  a  little  wring. 

"  Tell  Miss  Bowyer  that  there  is  a  gentleman  outside 
the  door  who  wishes  to  see  her.  Whenever  the  door  is 
shut,  do  you  fasten  it  inside." 

"  Miss  Bowyer,  there's  a  gentleman  inquiring  for  you 
outside,"  said  Mrs.  Martin  when  she  returned. 

Miss  Bowyer  opened  the  door  suspiciously,  standing  in 
the  doorway  as  she  spoke. 

"  Did  you  wish  to  see  me  ?  " 


A  FAMOUS  VICTORY.  359 

"  Are  you  Miss  Bowyer  ?  " 

"  Yes," — with  a  wave  inflection,  as  though  half  inquir 
ing. 

"  Are  you  the  Christian  Scientist  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Bowyer,  "  I  am." 

"  This  is  a  case  of  diphtheria,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It's  a  case  of  belief  in  diphtheria.  I  have  no  doubt 
I  shall  be  able  to  reduce  the  morbid  action  soon.  The 
child  is  already  in  the  state  of  interior  perception,"  she 
said,  seeing  in  Millard  a  possible  patient,  and  coming  a 
little  further  out  of  the  door. 

"  It's  catching,  I  believe,"  said  Millard.  "  Would  you 
mind  closing  the  door  a  moment  while  I  speak  with  you?" 

Miss  Bowyer  peered  into  the  room  to  see  Mrs.  Martin 
giving  Tommy  a  drink.  Feeling  secure,  she  softly  closed 
the  door,  keeping  hold  of  the  handle.  Then  she  turned 
to  Millard. 

"  Did  you  wish  to  see  me  professionally  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,"  said  Millard,  "  I  think  you  might  call  it  pro 
fessionally.  I  live  over  on  the  west  side.  Do  you  know 
where  the  Graydon  apartment  building  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes ;  I  attended  a  patient  near  there  once,  in 
one  of  the  brownstone  houses  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street.  He  got  well  beautifully." 

"  Well,  I  live  in  the  Graydon,"  said  Millard. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Bowyer,  with  a  rising  inflection,  won 
dering  what  could  be  the  outcome  of  this  roundabout  talk. 
"  Is  some  member  of  your  family  sick  ?  "  she  asked. 

A  bolt  clicked  behind  the  metaphysical  healer,  who 
turned  with  the  alarm  of  a  trapped  mouse  and  essayed  to 


SCO  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

push  the  door.     Then,  remembering  what  seemed  more 
profitable  game  in  front,  she  repeated  her  question,  but  in 
a  ruffled  tone,  "  Some  member  of  your  family  ?  " 
Charley  laughed  in  spite  of  himself. 
"  Not  of  my  family,  but  a  relative,"  he  said.     "  It  is 
my  cousin  who  is  sick  in  this  room,  and  I  called  to  get 
you  outside  of  the  door.     I  beg  your  pardon  for  the  seem 
ing  rudeness." 

Miss  Bowyer  now  pushed  on  the  door  in  vain. 
"  You  think  this  is  a  gentlemanly  way  to  treat  a  lady  ?  " 
she  said,  choking  with  indignation. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  handsome,  does  it  ?  "  he  said.  "  But 
do  you  think  you  have  treated  Mrs.  Martin  in  a  ladylike 
way?" 

"  I  was  called  by  her  husband,"  she  said. 
"  You  are  now  dismissed  by  the  wife." 
"  I  will  see  Mr.  Martin  at  once,  and  he  will  reinstate 
me." 

"You  will  not  see  Mr.  Martin.  I  shall  not  give 
you  a  chance.  I  am  going  to  report  you  to  the  County 
Medical  Society  and  the  Board  of  Health  at  once.  Have 
you  reported  this  case  of  diphtheria,  as  the  law  re 
quires  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not/'  said  Miss  Bowyer ;  "  but  I  was  go 
ing  to  do  so  to-day." 

"  I  don't  like  to  dispute  the  word  of  a  lady,"  he  said, 
"  but  you  know  that  you  are  not  a  proper  practitioner,  and 
that  in  case  of  a  contagious  disease  the  Board  of  Health 
would  put  you  out  of  here  neck  and  heels,  if  I  must  speak 
so  roughly.  Mrs.  Martin  is  my  aunt.  If  you  make  any 


A  FAMOUS  VICTORY.  361 

trouble,  I  shall  feel  obliged  to  have  you  arrested  at  once. 
If  you  go  home  quietly  and  do  not  say  a  word  to  Mr.  Mar 
tin,  I'll  let  you  off.  You  have  no  doubt  lost  patients  of 
this  kind  before,  and  if  I  look  up  your  record— 

"  My  hat  and  cloak  are  in  there,"  said  Miss  Bowyer. 

"If  you  renounce  the  case  and  say  no  more  to  Mr. 
Martin  I  will  not  follow  you  up,"  said  Charley ;  "  but  turn 
your  hand  against  Mrs.  Martin,  and  I'll  spend  a  thousand 
dollars  to  put  you  in  prison." 

This  put  a  new  aspect  on  the  case  in  Miss  Bow- 
yer's  mind.  That  Mrs.  Martin  had  influential  friends 
she  had  not  dreamed.  Miss  Bowyer  had  had  one  tilt 
with  the  authorities,  and  she  preferred  not  to  try  it 
again. 

"  My  hat  and  cloak  are  in  there,"  she  repeated,  push 
ing  on  the  door. 

"  Stand  aside,"  said  Millard,  "  and  I  will  get  them." 

Somehow  Millard  had  reached  Miss  Bowyer's  interior 
perception  and  put  her  into  the  conscious,  impressible, 
passive  state,  in  which  his  will  was  hers.  She  moved  to 
the  other  side  of  the  dark  hall  in  such  a  state  of  mind 
that  she  could  hardly  have  told  whether  the  magnetism 
of  her  brain  was  in  the  cerebrum  or  in  the  cerebellum  or 
in  a  state  of  oscillation  between  the  two. 

"  Aunt  Hannah,"  called  Millard,  "  open  the  door." 

The  bolt  was  shoved  back  by  Mrs.  Martin.  Millard 
opened  the  door  a  little  way,  holding  the  knob  firmly  in 
his  right  hand.  Mrs.  Martin  stood  well  out  of  sight  be 
hind  the  door,  from  an  undefined  fear  of  getting  in  range 
of  Miss  Bowyer,  whose  calm  bullying  had  put  Mrs.  Mar- 


362  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

tin  into  some  impassive  state  not  laid  down  in  works  on 
Christian  Science. 

"  Give  me  Miss  Bowyer's  hat  and  cloak,"  said  Millard. 

The  things  were  passed  out  by  Mrs.  Martin,  who,  in 
doing  so,  exposed  nothing  but  her  right  hand  to  the  ene 
my,  while  Charley  took  them  in  his  left  and  passed  them 
to  Miss  Bowyer. 

"  Now  remember,"  he  said,  closing  the  door  and  hold 
ing  it  until  he  heard  the  bolt  shoved  to  its  place  again,  "  if 
you  know  what  is  good  for  you,  you  will  not  make  the 
slightest  movement  in  this  case." 

"  But  you  will  not  refuse  me  my  fee,"  she  said.  "  You 
have  put  me  out  of  a  case  that  would  have  been  worth  ten 
or  twenty  dollars.  I  shall  expect  you  to  pay  me  some 
thing." 

Millard  hesitated.  It  might  be  better  not  to  provoke 
her  too  far ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  he  could  not  suppress 
his  indignation  on  his  aunt's  behalf  so  far  as  to  give  her 
money. 

"  Send  me  your  bill,  made  out  explicitly  for  medical 
services  in  this  case.  Address  the  cashier  of  the  Bank  of 
Manhadoes.  I  will  pay  you  if  your  bill  is  regularly  made 
out." 

Miss  Bowyer  went  down  the  stairs  and  into  the  street. 
But  the  more  she  thought  of  it  the  more  she  was  con 
vinced  that  this  demand  for  a  regular  bill  for  medical 
services  from  a  non-registered  practitioner  concealed  some 
new  device  to  entrap  her.  She  had  had  enough  of  that 
young  man  up-stairs,  and,  much  as  she  disliked  the  alter 
native,  she  thought  it  best  to  let  her  fee  go  uncollected, 


A  FAMOUS  VICTORY.  363 

unless  she  could  some  day  collect  it  quietly  from  the 
head  of  the  Martin  family.  Her  magnetism  had  never 
before  been  so  much  out  of  harmony  with  every  sort 
of  odylic  emanation  in  the  universe  as  at  this  mo 
ment. 


XXXIV. 

DOCTORS  AND  LOVERS. 

FAINT  from  the  all-night  strain  upon  her  feelings, 
Phillida  returned  to  her  home  from  the  Graydon  to  find 
her  mother  and  sister  at  breakfast. 

"  Philly,  you're  'most  dead,"  said  Agatha,  as  Phillida 
walked  wearily  into  the  dining-room  by  way  of  the  base 
ment  door.  "  You're  pale  and  sick.  Here,  sit  down  and 
take  a  cup  of  coffee." 

Phillida  sat  down  without  removing  her  bonnet  or 
sack,  but  Agatha  took  them  off  while  her  mother  poured 
her  coffee. 

"  Where  have  you  been  and  what  made  you  go  off  so 
early  ?  "  went  on  Agatha.  "  Or  did  you  run  away  in  the 
night?" 

"  Let  Phillida  take  her  coffee  and  get  rested,"  said  the 
mother. 

"  All  right,  she  shall,"  said  Agatha,  patting  her  on  the 
back  in  a  baby-cuddling  way.  "  Only  tell  me  how  that 
little  boy  is ;  I  do  want  to  know,  and  you  can  just  say 
4  better,' '  worse,'  i  well,'  or  '  dead,'  without  waiting  for  the 
effect  of  the  coffee,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  The  child  has  diphtheria.  I  don't  know  whether  I 
ought  to  come  home  and  expose  the  rest  of  you." 


DOCTORS  AND  LOVERS.  365 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Agatha.  "  Do  you  think  we're  go 
ing  to  send  you  off  to  the  Island  ?  You  take  care  of  the 
rest  of  the  world,  Philly,  but  mama  and  I  take  care  of 
you.  When  you  get  up  into  a  private  box  in  heaven 
as  a  great  saint,  we'll  hang  on  to  your  robe  and  get  good 
seats." 

"  Sh-sh,"  said  Phillida,  halting  between  a  revulsion  at 
Agatha's  irreverent  speech  and  a  feeling  more  painful. 
"  I'll  never  be  a  great  saint,  Aggy.  Only  a  poor,  foolish 
girl,  mistaking  her  fancies  for  her  duty." 

"  Oh,  that's  the  way  with  all  the  great  saints.  They 
just  missed  being  shut  up  for  lunatics.  But  do  you  think 
you'll  be  able  to  save  that  little  boy  ?  Don't  you  think 
you  ought  to  get  them  to  call  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Oh,  I  gave  up  the  case.  I'm  done  with  faith- 
healing  once  for  all,  Agatha."  This  was  said  with  a  little 
gulp,  indicating  that  the  confession  cost  her  both  effort 
and  pain. 

«  You—" 

"Don't  ask  me  any  questions  till  I'm  better  able  to 
answer.  I'm  awfully  tired  out  and  cross." 

"What  have  you  been  doing  this  morning?"  said 
Agatha,  notwithstanding  Phillida's  injunction  against 
questions. 

"  Getting  Miss  Bowyer  out  of  the  Martin  house.  Mr. 
Martin  was  determined  to  have  her,  and  he  went  for  her 
when  his  wife  sent  him  for  a  doctor." 

"Miss  Bowyer!  I  don't  see  how  you  ever  got  her 
out,"  said  Agatha.  "Did  you  get  a  policeman  to  put 
her  into  the  station-house  on  the  mortal  plane  ?  " 


THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  No ;  I  did  worse.  I  actually  had  to  go  to  the  Gray- 
don  and  wake  up  Charley  Millard — " 

"  You  did  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  couldn't  get  a  messenger,  and  so  I  went  my 
self.  And  I  put  the  case  into  Charley's  hands,  and  he 
sent  his  man  Friday  scampering  after  a  coupe,  and  I 
came  home  and  left  him  to  go  over  there  and  fight  it 
out." 

"  Well,  I  declare  !  "  said  Agatha.  "  What  remarkable 
adventures  you  have!  And  I  never  have  anything  real 
nice  and  dreadful  happen  to  me.  But  he  might  have 
brought  you  home." 

"  It  wasn't  his  fault  that  he  didn't.  But  give  me  a 
little  bit  of  steak,  please ;  I  have  got  to  go  back  to  the 
Martins'." 

"  No,  you  mustn't.     Mother,  don't  you  let  her." 

"  I  do  wish,  Phillida,"  said  the  mother,  "  that  you 
wouldn't  go  down  into  the  low  quarters  of  the  town  any 
more.  You're  so  exposed  to  disease.  And  then  you're  a 
young  woman.  You  haven't  got  your  father's  endurance. 
It's  a  dreadful  risk." 

"  Well,  I'm  rather  responsible  for  the  child,  and  then 
I  ought  to  be  there  to  protect  Mrs.  Martin  from  her  hus 
band  when  he  comes  home  at  noon,  and  to  share  the 
blame  with  her  when  he  finds  his  favorite  put  out  and 
Charley's  doctor  in  possession." 

"  So  you  and  Charley  are  in  partnership  in  saving  the 
boy's  life,"  said  Agatha,  "  and  you've  got  a  regular  doc 
tor.  That's  something  like.  I  can  guess  what'll  come 
next." 


DOCTORS  AND  LOVERS.  367 

"  Hush,  Agatha,"  said  the  mother. 

Phillida's  appetite  for  beefsteak  failed  in  a  moment, 
and  she  pushed  her  plate  back  and  looked  at  her  sister 
with  vexation. 

"  If  you  think  there's  going  to  be  a  new  engagement, 
you're  mistaken." 

"  Think  !  "  said  Agatha,  with  a  provoking  laugh,  "  I 
don't  think  anything  about  it.  I  know  just  what's  got 
to  happen.  You  and  Charley  are  just  made  for  each 
other,  though  for  my  part  I  should  prefer  a  young  man 
something  like  Cousin  Philip." 

Phillida  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  Mrs.  Callender 
made  a  protesting  gesture  at  the  impulsive  Agatha. 

"  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  talk  about  such  things 
when  I'm  so  tired,"  said  Phillida,  struggling  to  maintain 
self-control.  "  Mr.  Millard  is  a  man  used  to  great  popular 
ity  and  much  flattery  in  society.  He  would  never  stand 
it  in  the  world  ;  it  would  hurt  him  twenty  years  hence  to 
be  reminded  that  his  wife  had  been  a — well — a  fanatic." 
This  was  uttered  with  a  sharp  effort  of  desperation,  Phil 
lida  grinding  a  bit  of  bread  to  pieces  between  thumb  and 
finger  the  meanwhile.  "  If  he  were  to  offer  to  renew  the 
engagement  I  should  refuse.  It  would  be  too  mortifying 
to  think  of." 

Agatha  said  nothing,  and  Phillida  presently  added, 
"And  if  you  think  I  went  to  the  Graydon  to  renew 
the  acquaintance  of  Charley,  it's — very — unkind  of  jou, 
that's  all."  Phillida  could  no  longer  restrain  her  tears. 

"Why,  Phillida,  dear,  Agatha  didn't  say  any  such 
thing,"  interposed  Mrs.  Callender. 


368  TEE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  If  you  think,"  said  Agatha,  angrily,  "  that  I  could 
even  imagine  such  a  thing  as  that,  it's  just  too  awfully 
mean,  that's  all.  But  you've  worried  yourself  sick  and 
you're  unreasonable.  There,  now,  please  don't  cry,  Phil- 
ly,"  she  added,  going  around  and  stroking  her  sister's 
hair.  "  You're  too  good  for  any  man  that  ever  lived,  and 
that's  a  great  misfortune.  If  they  could  have  split  the 
difference  between  your  goodness  and  my  badness,  they 
might  have  made  two  fair  average  women.  There,  now, 
if  you  don't  eat  something  I'll  blame  myself  all  day.  I'm 
going  to  toast  you  a  piece  of  bread." 

In  spite  of  remonstrance,  the  repentant  Agatha  toasted 
a  piece  of  bread  and  boiled  the  only  egg  that  Sarah  had 
in  the  house,  to  tempt  her  sister's  appetite. 

"  Your  motto  is,  '  Hard  words  and  kind  acts,' "  said 
Mrs.  Callender,  as  Agatha  came  in  with  the  toast  and  the 

egg- 

"  My  motto  is,  c  Hard  words  and  soft  boiled  eggs,' " 
said  Agatha,  who  had  by  this  penance  secured  her  own 
forgiveness  and  recovered  her  gayety. 

In  vain  was  Phillida  entreated  to  rest.  She  felt  her 
self  drawn  to  Mrs.  Martin,  who  would,  as  she  concluded, 
have  got  rid  of  Miss  Bowyer,  and  seen  the  doctor  and 
Charley,  and  be  left  alone,  by  this  time.  So,  promising  to 
be  back  by  one  o'clock,  if  possible,  she  went  out  again,  in 
dulging  her  fatigue  so  far  as  to  take  a  car  in  Fourteenth 
street.  Arrived  at  Mrs.  Martin's,  she  was  embarrassed  at 
finding  Millard  sitting  with  his  aunt.  She  gave  him  a 
look  of  recognition  as  she  entered,  and  said  to  Mrs.  Mar 
tin,  who  was  holding  Tommy : 


DOCTORS  AND  LOVERS.  369 

"  I  thought  I  should  find  you  alone  by  this  time." 

This  indirect  statement  that  she  had  not  considered  it 
desirable  to  encounter  Millard  again  cut  him,  and  he  said, 
as  though  the  words  had  been  addressed  to  him,  "  I  am 
expecting  Dr.  Gunstone  every  moment." 

"  Dr.  Gunstone  ?  I  am  glad  he  is  coming,"  said 
Phillida,  firing  the  remark  in  the  air  indiscriminate 
ly  at  the  aunt  or  nephew,  as  either  might  please  to  ac 
cept  it. 

At  that  moment  Millard's  valet,  Robert,  in  the  capacity 
of  pioneer  and  pilot,  knocked  at  the  door.  When  Millard 
opened  it  he  said,  "  Dr.  Gunstone,  sir,"  and  stood  aside  to 
let  the  physician  pass. 

Gunstone  made  a  little  hurried  bow  to  Millard,  and, 
without  waiting  for  an  introduction,  bowed  with  his  usual 
deference  to  Mrs.  Martin.  "  Good-morning,  madam ;  is 
this  the  little  sufferer  ?  "  at  the  same  time  making  a  hur 
ried  bow  of  courtesy  to  Phillida  as  a  stranger  ;  but  as  he 
did  so,  he  arrested  himself  and  said  in  the  fatherly  tone  he 
habitually  used  with  his  young  women  patients,  "  How  do 
you  do  ?  You  came  to  see  me  last  year  with — " 

"  My  mother,  Mrs.  Callender,"  said  Phillida. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  and  how  is  your  mother,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you,  doctor." 

The  doctor  dispatched  these  courtesies  with  business 
like  promptness,  and  then  settled  himself  to  an  examina 
tion  of  little  Tommy. 

"  This  is  diphtheria,"  he  said ;  "  you  will  want  a  phy 
sician  in  the  neighborhood.  Let's  see,  whom  have  you? " 

This  to  Millard. 
24 


370  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

Millard  turned  to  his  aunt.  She  looked  at  Phillida. 
"  There's  Dr.  Smith  around  the  corner/'  said  Phillida. 

Dr.  Gunstone  said,  "  Dr.  Smith  ?  "  inquiringly  to  him 
self.  But  the  name  did  not  seem  to  recall  any  particular 
Smith. 

"  And  Dr.  Beswick  in  Seventeenth  street,"  said  Phil 
lida. 

"Beswick  is  a  very  good  young  fellow,  with  ample 
hospital  experience,"  said  Gunstone.  "  Can  you  send  for 
him  at  once  ?  " 

Kobert,  who  stood  alert  without  the  door,  was  told  to 
bring  Dr.  Beswick  in  the  carriage,  and  in  a  very  short 
space  of  time  Beswick  was  there,  having  left  Mrs.  Beswick 
sure  that  success  and  renown  could  not  be  far  away  when 
her  husband  was  called  on  Gunstone's  recommendation, 
and  fetched  in  a  coupe  under  the  conduct  of  what  seemed 
to  her  a  coachman  and  a  footman.  Beswick's  awkward 
ness  and  his  abrupt  up-and-downness  of  manner  con 
trasted  strangely  with  Dr.  Gunstone's  simple  but  grace 
ful  ways.  A  few  rapid  directions  served  to  put  the 
case  into  Beswick's  hands,  and  the  old  doctor  bowed 
swiftly  to  all  in  the  room,  descended  the  stairs,  and,  hav 
ing  picked  his  way  hurriedly  through  a  swarm  of  chil 
dren  on  the  sidewalk,  entered  the  carriage  again,  and  was 
gone. 

Millard  looked  at  his  watch,  remembered  that  he  had 
had  no  breakfast,  and  prepared  to  take  his  leave. 

"  Thank  you,  Charley,  ever  so  much,"  said  his  aunt. 
"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  you." 

"  Miss  Callender  is  the  one  to  thank,"  said  Millard, 


DOCTORS  AND  LOVERS.  371 

scarcely  daring  .to  look  at  her,  as  lie  bade  her  and  Dr.  Bes- 
wick  good-morning. 

\Yhen  he  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  long  flight  of 
stairs,  Millard  suddenly  turned  about  and  climbed  upward 
once  more. 

"  Miss  Callender,"  he  said,  standing  in  the  door,  "  let 
me  speak  to  you,  please." 

Phillida  went  out  to  him.  This  confidential  conver 
sation  could  not  but  excite  a  rush  of  associations  and 
emotion  in  the  minds  of  both  of  them,  so  that  neither 
dared  to  look  directly  at  the  other  as  they  stood  there  in 
the  obscure  light  which  struggled  through  two  dusty  panes 
of  glass  at  the  top  of  the  next  flight. 

"  You  must  not  stay  here,"  he  said.  "  You're  very 
weary ;  you  will  be  liable  to  take  the  disease.  I  am  going 
to  send  a  professional  nurse." 

This  solicitude  for  her  was  so  like  the  Charley  of  other 
times  that  it  made  Phillida  tremble  with  a  grateful  emo 
tion  she  could  not  quite  conceal. 

"  A  professional  nurse  will  be  better  for  Tommy.  But 
I  can  not  leave  while  Mrs.  Martin  has  any  great  need  for 
me."  She  could  not  confess  to  him  the  responsibility  she 
felt  in  the  case  on  account  of  her  having  undertaken  it  the 
evening  before  as  a  faith-doctor. 

"  What  is  the  best  way  to  get  a  nurse  ?  "  asked  Millard, 
regarding  her  downcast  face,  and  repressing  a  dreadful 
impulse  to  manifest  his  reviving  affection. 

"  Dr.  Beswick  will  know,"  said  Phillida.  "  I  will  send 
him  out."  She  was  glad  to  escape  into  the  room  again, 
for  she  was  afraid  to  trust  her  own  feelings  longer  in  Mil- 


372  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

lard's  company.  The  arrangement  was  made  that  Dr. 
Beswick  should  send  a  nurse,  and  then  Millard  and  Bes- 
wick  went  down-stairs  together. 

Phillida  stayed  till  Mr.  Martin  eame  home,  hoping  to 
soften  the  scene  between  husband  and  wife.  In  his  heart 
Martin  revered  his  wife's  good  sense,  but  he  thought  it  due 
to  his  sex  to  assert  himself  once  in  a  while  against  a  wife 
whose  superiority  he  could  not  but  recognize.  As  soon  as 
he  had  accomplished  this  feat,  thereby  proving  his  mas 
culinity,  he  always  repented  it.  For  so  long  as  his  wife 
approved  his  course  he  was  sure  that  he  could  not  be  far 
astray ;  but  whenever  his  vanity  had  made  him  act  against 
her  judgment  he  was  a  mariner  out  of  reckoning,  and  he 
made  haste  to  take  account  of  the  pole  star  of  her  good 
sense. 

He  had  just  now  been  impelled  by  certain  ugly  ele 
ments  in  his  nature  to  give  his  wife  a  taste  of  his  power  as 
the  head  of  the  family,  the  more  that  she  had  dared  to 
make  sport  of  his  new  science  and  of  his  new  oracle,  Miss 
Bowyer.  But  once  he  had  become  individually  responsible 
for  Tommy's  life  without  the  security  of  Mrs.  Martin's  in 
dorsement  on  the  back  of  the  bond,  he  became  extremely 
miserable.  As  noontime  approached  he  grew  so  restless 
that  he  got  excused  from  his  bench  early,  and  came  home. 

Motives  of  delicacy  had  prevented  any  communication 
between  Phillida  and  Mrs.  Martin  regarding  the  probable 
attitude  of  Mr.  Martin  toward  the  transactions  of  the 
morning.  But  when  his  ascending  footsteps,  steady  and 
solemn  as  the  Dead  March  in  "  Saul,"  were  heard  upon 
the  stairs,  their  hearts  failed  them. 


DOCTORS  AND  LOVERS.  373 

"  How's  little  Tommy?"  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  think  he's  any  better,"  said  Mrs.  Martin. 

"  Come  to  think,"  said  the  husband,  "  I  guess  I'd  bet 
ter  send  word  to  Miss  Bowyer  to  give  it  up  and  not  come 
any  more,  and  then  I'd  better  get  a  regular  doctor.  I 
don't  somehow  like  to  take  all  the  responsibility,  come  to 
think." 

"  Miss  Bowyer's  given  up  the  case,"  said  Mrs.  Martin. 
"  Charley's  been  here,  scared  to  death  about  Tommy.  He 
brought  a  great  doctor  from  Fifth  Avenue,  and  together 
they  sent  for  Dr.  Beswick.  Miss  Bowyer  gave  up  the  case." 

"  Give  up  the  case,  did  she  ?  "  he  said  wonderingly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  that's  better.  But  I  didn't  ever  hardly  believe 
she'd  go  and  give  it  up." 

Mr.  Martin  did  not  care  to  inquire  further.  He  was 
rid  of  responsibility,  and  finding  himself  once  more  under 
the  lee  of  his  wife,  he  could  eat  his  dinner  and  go  back  to 
work  a  happier  man. 


XXXV. 

PHILLIDA  AND  PIER  FRIENDS. 

THE  appearance  in  the  Martin  apartment  of  the 
trained  nurse,  who  was  an  old  friend  and  hospital  associ 
ate  of  Mrs.  Beswick's,  relieved  Phillida  of  night  service ; 
but  nothing  could  relieve  her  sense  of  partial  responsibil 
ity  for  the  delay  in  calling  a  doctor,  and  her  resolution  to 
stay  by  little  Tommy  as  much  as  possible  until  the  issue 
should  be  known.  Every  day  while  the  nurse  rested  she 
took  her  place  with  the  patient,  holding  him  in  her  arms 
for  long  hours  at  a  time,  and  every  day  Millard  called  to 
make  inquiries.  He  was  not  only  troubled  about  the  lit 
tle  boy,  but  there  hung  over  him  a  dread  of  imminent 
calamity  to  Phillida.  On  the  fifth  day  the  symptoms  in 
Tommy's  case  became  more  serious,  but  at  the  close  of 
the  sixth  Dr.  Beswick  expressed  himself  as  hopeful.  The 
next  evening,  when  Millard  called,  he  learned  that  Tom 
my  was  improving  slowly,  and  that  Miss  Callender  had 
not  come  to  the  Martins'  on  that  day.  His  aunt  thought 
that  she  was  probably  tired  out,  and  that  she  had  taken 
advantage  of  Tommy's  improvement  to  rest.  But  when 
had  Phillida  been  known  to  rest  when  anybody  within 
her  range  was  suffering?  Millard  felt  sure  that  she 


PHILLIDA  AND   HER  FRIENDS.  375 

would  at  least  have  come  to  learn  tlie  condition  of  the 
sick  boy  had  she  been  able. 

He  hesitated  to  make  inquiry  after  Phillida's  health. 
Her  effort  to  avoid  conversation  with  him  assured  him 
that  she  preferred  not  to  encourage  a  new  intimacy.  But 
though  he  debated,  he  did  not  delay  going  straight  to  the 
Calenders'  and  ringing  the  bell. 

Agatha  came  to  the  door. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Agatha,"  he  said,  presuming  so 
much  on  his  old  friendship  as  to  use  her  first  name. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Millard,"  said  Agatha,  in  an  em 
barrassed  but  austere  voice. 

"  I  called  to  inquire  after  your  sister.  Knowing  that 
she  had  been  exposed  to  diphtheria,  I  was  afraid —  He 
paused  here,  remembering  that  he  no  longer  had  any 
right  to  be  afraid  on  her  account. 

Agatha  did  not  wait  for  him  to  re-shape  or  complete 
his  sentence.  She  said,  "  Thank  you.  She  has  a  sore 
throat,  which  makes  us  very  uneasy.  Cousin  Philip  has 
just  gone  to  see  if  he  can  get  Dr.  Gunstone." 

When  Millard  had  gone,  Agatha  told  her  mother  that 
Charley  had  called. 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Callender.  "  Did  you 
ask  him  in  ?  " 

"  Not  I,"  said  Agatha,  with  a  high  head.  "  If  he 
wants  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  Phillida,  he  can  do 
it  without  our  asking  him.  I  was  just  as  stiff  as  I  could 
be  with  him,  and  I  told  him  that  Cousin  Phil  had  gone 
for  the  doctor.  That'll  be  a  thorn  in  his  side,  for  he  al 
ways  was  a  little  jealous  of  Philip,  I  believe." 


376  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

"Why,  Agatha,  I'm  afraid  you  haven't  done  right. 
You  oughtn't  to  be  so  severe.  For  my  part,  I  hope  the 
engagement  will  be  renewed.  1  am  sick  and  tired  of 
having  Phillida  risk  her  life  in  the  tenements.  It  was 
very  kind  of  Mr.  Millard  to  call  and  inquire,  I  am 
sure." 

"  He  ought  to,"  said  Agatha.  "  She  got  this  dreadful 
disease  taking  care  of  his  relations.  I  don't  want  him 
to  think  we're  dying  to  have  him  take  Phillida  off  our 
hands."  Agatha's  temper  was  ruffled  by  her  anxiety  at 
Phillida's  sickness.  "  I'm  sure  his  high  and  mighty  tone 
about  Phillida's  faith-cures  has  worried  her  enough.  Now 
just  let  him  worry  awhile." 

Certainly,  Agatha  Calender's  bearing  toward  him  did 
not  reassure  Millard.  He  thought  she  might  have  called 
him  Charley ;  or  if  that  was  not  just  the  thing  to  do,  she 
might  have  made  her  voice  a  little  less  frosty.  He  could 
not  get  rid  of  a  certain  self-condemnation  regarding  Phil 
lida,  and  he  conjectured  that  her  family  were  disposed  to 
condemn  him  also.  He  thought  they  ought  to  consider 
how  severely  his  patience  had  been  tried  ;  but  then  they 
could  not  know  how  Phillida  was  talked  about.  How 
could  they  ever  imagine  Meadows's  brutal  impertinence  ? 
He  was  not  clear  regarding  the  nature  of  the  change 
in  Phillida's  views.  Had  she  wholly  renounced  her  faith- 
healing,  or  was  she  only  opposed  to  the  Christian  Science 
imposture?  Or  did  she  think  that  medicine  should  be 
called  in  after  an  appeal  to  Heaven  had  failed  ?  If  he 
had  felt  that  there  was  any  probability  of  a  renewal  of 
his  engagement  with  Phillida,  he  could  have  wished  that 


PHILLIDA  AND   HEft  FRIENDS.  377 

she  might  not  yet  have  given  up  her  career  as  a  faith- 
doctor.  He  would  then  have  a  chance  to  prove  to  her 
that  he  was  not  too  cowardly  to  endure  reproach  for  her 
sake.  But,  from  the  way  Agatha  spoke,  it  must  be  that 
Philip  Gouverneur  was  now  in  favor  rather  than  he. 
Nothing  had  been  more  evident  to  him  than  that  Philip 
was  in  love  with  his  cousin.  What  was  to  be  expected 
but  that  Philip,  with  the  advantage  of  cousinly  intimacy, 
should  urge  his  suit,  once  Phillida  was  free  from  her  en 
gagement  ? 

But  all  his  other  anxieties  were  swallowed  up  in  the 
one  fear  that  she  who  had  ventured  her  life  for  others 
so  bravely  might  have  sacrificed  it.  Millard  was  uneasy 
the  night  long,  and  before  he  went  to  the  bank  he  called 
again  at  the  Callender  house.  He  was  glad  that  it  was 
Sarah,  and  not  Agatha,  who  came  to  the  door.  He  sent 
in  a  card  to  Mrs.  Callender  with  the  words,  "  Kind  in 
quiries,"  written  on  it,  and  received  through  Sarah  the 
reply  that  Mrs.  Callender  was  much  obliged  to  him  for 
inquiring,  and  that  Miss  Callender  had  diphtheria  and 
was  not  so  well  as  yesterday. 

The  cashier  of  the  Bank  of  Manhadoes  was  not  happy 
that  day.  He  threw  himself  into  his  business  with  an 
energy  that  seemed  feverish.  He  did  not  feel  that  it 
would  be  proper  for  him  to  call  again  before  the  next 
morning ;  it  would  seem  like  trying  to  take  advantage  of 
Phillida's  illness.  But,  with  such  a  life  in  jeopardy,  how 
could  his  impatience  delay  till  morning  ? 

Just  before  three  o'clock  the  Hilbrough  carriage 
stopped  at  the  bank,  Mrs.  Hilbrough  had  come  to  take 


378  THE  FAITH   DOCTOB. 

up  her  husband  for  a  drive.  Hilbrough  was  engaged  with 
some  one  in  the  inner  office,  which  he  had  occupied  since 
Masters  had  virtually  retired  from  the  bank.  Millard  saw 
the  carriage  from  his  window,  and,  with  more  than  his 
usual  gallantry,  quitted  his  desk  to  assist  Mrs.  Hilbrough 
to  alight.  But  she  declined  to  come  in ;  she  would  wait 
in  the  carriage  for  Mr.  Hilbrough. 

fl  Did  you  know  of  Miss  Callender's  illness  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No ;  is  it  anything  serious?  "  Mrs.  Hilbrough  showed 
a  sincere  solicitude. 

"  Diphtheria,"  he  said.  "  I  called  there  this  morning. 
Mrs.  Callender  sent  word  that  Phillida  was  not  so  well  as 
yesterday." 

Mrs.  Hilbrough  was  pleased  that  Millard  had  gone  so 
far  as  to  inquire.  She  reflected  that  an  illness,  if  not  a 
dangerous  one,  might  be  a  good  thing  for  lovers  situated 
as  these  two.  But  diphtheria  was  another  matter. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  how  she's  getting  along  this  after 
noon,"  said  Mrs.  Hilbrough. 

"  I  would  call  again  at  once,"  said  Millard,  "  but,  you 
know,  my  relations  are  peculiar.  To  call  twice  in  a  day 
might  seem  intrusive." 

"  I  would  drive  there  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Hilbrough, 
meditatively,  "  but  Mr.  Hilbrough  is  so  wrapped  up  in  his 
children,  and  so  much  afraid  of  their  getting  diphtheria, 
that  he  will  not  venture  into  the  street  where  it  is.  If  I 
should  send  the  footman,  Mr.  Hilbrough  would  not  let 
him  return  to  the  house  again.  I'm  afraid  he  would  not 
even  approve  of  communication  by  a  telegraph-boy." 

"  A  boy  would  be  long  enough  returning  to  be  disin- 


PHILLIDA  AND   HER  FRIENDS.  379 

fected,"  said  Millard ;  but  the  pleasantry  was  all  in  his 
words;  his  face  showed  solicitude  and  disappointment. 
He  could  think  of  no  one  but  Mrs.  Hilbrough  through 
whom  he  could  inquire. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  "  you  would  not  object  to  my 
sending  an  inquiry  in  your  name  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly  not ;  that  would  be  a  good  plan,  espe 
cially  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to  let  me  know  how  she 
is.  Use  my  name  at  your  discretion,  Mr.  Millard.  I  give 
you  carte  blanche,"  said  she,  smiling  with  pleasure  at  the 
very  notion  of  bearing  so  intimate  a  relation  to  a  clever 
scheme  which  lent  a  little  romance  to  a  love-affair  highly 
interesting  to  her  on  all  accounts.  She  took  out  a  visiting- 
card  and  penciled  the  words,  "  Hoping  that  Miss  Callen- 
der  is  not  very  ill,  and  begging  Mrs.  Callender  to  let  her 
know."  This  she  handed  to  Millard. 

Mr.  Hilbrough  came  out  at  that  moment,  and  Millard 
bowed  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough  and  went  in.  Hilbrough  had 
been  as  deeply  grieved  as  his  wife  to  hear  that  the  much- 
admired  Phillida  was  ill. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  my  dear  ?  "  he  said.  "  You 
can  not  go  there  without  risking  the  children.  You  can't 
send  James  without  danger  of  bringing  the  infection  into 
the  house.  But  we  mustn't  leave  Phillida  without  some 
attentions ;  I  don't  see  how  to  manage  it." 

"  I've  just  made  Mr.  Millard  my  deputy,"  said  Mrs. 
Hilbrough.  "  You  see,  he  feels  delicate  about  inquiring 
too  often ;  so  I  have  written  inquiries  on  one  of  my  cards 
and  given  it  to  Mr.  Millard." 

Hilbrough  didn't  like  to  do  things  in  a  stinted  way, 


380  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

particularly  in  cases  which  involved  his  generous  feel 
ings. 

"  Give  me  a  lot  of  your  cards,"  he  said. 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  For  Mr.  Millard." 

"  I  don't  see  what  use  he  can  make  of  them,"  said  Mrs. 
Hilbrough,  slowly  opening  her  card-case. 

"  He'll  know,"  said  Hilbrough.  "  He  can  work  a  visit 
ing-card  in  more  ways  than  any  other  man  in  New  York." 
Hilbrough  took  half  a  dozen  of  his  wife's  cards  and  carried 
them  into  the  bank. 

"  Use  these  as  you  see  fit,"  he  said  to  Millard,  "  and 
if  you  need  a  dozen  or  two  more  let  me  know." 

Under  other  circumstances  Millard  would  have  been 
amused,  this  liberal  overdoing  was  so  characteristic  of  Hil 
brough.  But  he  only  took  the  cards  with  thanks,  reflect 
ing  that  there  might  be  some  opportunity  to  use  them. 

As  he  would  be  detained  at  the  bank  until  near  four 
o'clock,  his  first  impulse  was  to  call  a  district  messenger 
and  dispatch  Mrs.  Hilbrough 's  card  of  inquiry  at  once. 
But  he  reflected  that  the  illness  might  be  a  long  one,  and 
that  his  measures  should  be  taken  with  reference  to  his 
future  conduct.  On  his  way  home  from  the  bank  he 
settled  the  manner  of  his  procedure.  The  Callender  fam 
ily,  outside  of  Phillida  at  most,  did  not  know  his  man 
Robert.  By  sending  the  discreet  Eobert  systematically 
with  messages  in  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  name,  those  who  at 
tended  the  door  would  come  to  regard  him  as  the  Hil 
brough  messenger. 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  when  Robert,  under  careful 


PHILL1DA  AND  HER  FRIENDS.  381 

instructions,  presented  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  card  at  the  Cal- 
lender  door.  Unfortunately  for  Millard's  plan,  Mrs.  Cal- 
lender,  despite  Robert's  hint  that  a  verbal  message  would 
be  sufficient,  wrote  her  reply.  When  the  note  came  into 
Millard's  hands  he  did  not  know  what  to  do.  His  com 
mission  did  not  extend  to  opening  a  missive  addressed  to 
Mrs.  Hilbrough.  The  first  impulse  was  to  dispatch  Robert 
with  the  note  to  Mrs.  Hilbrough.  Then  Millard  remem 
bered  Mr.  Hilbrough's  apprehension  of  diphtheria,  and 
that  Robert  had  come  from  the  infected  house.  He  would 
send  Mrs.  Callender's  note  by  a  messenger.  But,  on  sec 
ond  thought,  the  note  would  be  a  more  deadly  missile  in 
Hilbrough's  eyes  than  Robert,  who  had  not  gone  beyond 
the  vestibule  of  the  Callender  house.  He  therefore  sent  a 
note  by  a  messenger,  stating  the  case,  and  received  in  re 
turn  permission  to  open  all  letters  addressed  to  Mrs.  Hil 
brough  which  his  man  might  bring  away  from  the  Callen- 
ders\  This  scheme,  by  which  Millard  personated  Mrs. 
Hilbrough,  had  so  much  the  air  of  a  romantic  intrigue  of 
the  harmless  variety  that  it  fascinated  Mrs.  Hilbrough, 
who  dearly  loved  a  manoeuver,  and  who  would  have  given 
Millard  permission  to  forge  her  name  and  seal  his  notes 
of  inquiry  with  the  recently  discovered  Hilbrough  coat-of- 
arins,  if  such  extreme  measures  had  been  necessary.  Mrs. 
Callender's  reply  stated  that  Dr.  Gunstone  was  hopeful, 
but  that  Phillida  seemed  pretty  ill. 

The  next  morning  Millard's  card  with  "  Kind  inqui 
ries  "  was  sent  in,  and  the  reply  was  returned  that  Phil 
lida  was  no  worse.  Her  mother  showed  her  the  card,  and 
Phillida  looked  at  it  for  half  a  minute  and  then  wearily 


382  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

put  it  away.  An  hour  later  Kobert  appeared  at  the  door 
with  a  bunch  of  callas,  to  which  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  card 
was  attached. 

"Oh!  see,  Philly,"  said  Agatha  softly,  "Mrs.  Hil- 
brough  has  sent  you  some  flowers." 

Phillida  reached  her  hand  and  touched  them,  gazed  at 
them  a  moment,  and  then  turned  her  head  away,  and  be 
gan  to  weep. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Philly?  What  are  you  crying 
about  ?  "  said  her  mother,  with  solicitation. 

"  The  flowers  make  me  want  to  die." 

"  Why,  how  can  the  flowers  trouble  you  ?  " 

"  They  are  just  like  what  Charley  used  to  send  me. 
They  remind  me  that  there  is  nothing  more  for  me  but  to 
die  and  have  done  with  the  world." 

The  flowers  were  put  out  of  her  sight ;  but  Phillida's 
mind  had  fastened  itself  on  those  other  callas  whose  mute 
appeal  for  Charley  Millard,  at  the  crisis  of  her  history, 
had  so  deeply  moved  her,  though  her  perverse  conscience 
would  not  let  her  respond  to  it. 


XXXVI. 

MRS.   BESWICK. 


ABOUT  the  time  that  Phillida  got  her  flowers  Mrs.  Bes- 
wick  sat  mending  her  husband's  threadbare  overcoat.  His 
vigorous  thumbs,  in  frequent  fastening  and  loosening,  had 
worn  the  cloth  quite  through  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
buttons.  To  repair  this,  his  wife  had  cut  little  bits  of  the 
fabric  off  the  overplus  of  cloth  at  the  seams,  and  worked 
these  little  pieces  through  the  holes,  and  then  sewed  the 
cloth  down  upon  them  so  as  to  underlay  the  thumb- worn 
places.  The  buttonholes  had  also  frayed  out,  and  these 
had  to  be  reworked. 

"  I  declare,  my  love,"  she  said,  "  you  ought  to  have  a 
new  overcoat.  This  one  is  not  decent  enough  for  a 'man 
in  your  position  to  wear." 

"  It'll  have  to  do  till  warm  weather,"  he  said ;  "  I 
couldn't  buy  another  if  I  wanted  to." 

"  But  you  see,  love,  since  Dr.  Gunstone  called  you  and 
sent  a  carriage  for  you,  there's  a  chance  for  a  better  sort 
of  practice,  if  we  were  only  able  to  furnish  the  office  a 
little  better,  and,  above  all,  to  get  you  a  good  overcoat. 
There,  try  that  on  and  see  how  it  looks." 

Dr.  Beswick  drew  the  overcoat  on,  and  Mrs.  Beswick 
gave  herself  the  pleasure  of  buttoning  it  about  his  manly 


384  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

form,  and  of  turning  the  doctor  around  as  a  Bowery  shop 
keeper  does  a  sidewalk  dummy,  to  try  the  effect,  smooth 
ing  the  coat  with  her  hands  the  while. 

"  That  looks  a  good  deal  better,  Mattie,"  he  said. 

"  Yes ;  but  it's  fraying  a  little  at  the  cuffs,  and  when 
it  gives  away  there  darning  and  patching  won't  save  it. 
There,  don't,  don't,  love,  please;  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

This  last  appeal  was  occasioned  by  the  doctor's  avail 
ing  himself  of  her  proximity  to  put  his  arm  about  her. 

"  Annie  Jackson  got  twenty-five  dollars  for  nursing  the 
Martin  child.  Now,  if  Fd  only  done  that." 

"But  you  couldn't,  Mattie.  You're  a  doctor's  wife, 
and  you  owe  it  to  your  position  not  to  go  out  nursing." 

"  I  know.  Never  mind ;  your  practice'll  rise  now  that 
Dr.  Gunstone  has  called  you,  and  they  sent  a  carriage  with 
a  coachman  and  a  footman  after  you.  That  kind  of  thing 
makes  an  impression  on  the  neighbors.  I  shouldn't  won 
der  if  you'd  be  able  to  keep  your  own  carriage  in  a  few 
years.  I'm  sure  you've  got  as  much  ability  as  Dr.  Gun- 
stone,  though  you  don't  put  on  his  stylish  ways.  But  we 
must  manage  to  get  you  a  new  overcoat  before  another 
winter.  Take  off  the  coat,  quick." 

The  last  words  were  the  result  of  a  ring  at  the  door. 
The  doctor  slipped  quickly  out  of  his  overcoat,  laughing, 
and  then  instantly  assumed  his  meditative  office  face,  while 
Mrs.  Beswick  opened  the  door.  There  stood  a  man  in 
shirt-sleeves  who  had  come  to  get  the  doctor  to  go  to  the 
dry  dock  to  see  a  workman  who  was  suffering  from  an  at 
tack  of  cart-pin  in  the  hands  of  a  friend  with  whom  he 
had  been  discussing  municipal  politics. 


MRS.  BESWICK.  385 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Mrs.  Beswick's  wifely  heart  was 
gladdened  by  another  ring.  When  she  saw  that  the  visitor 
was  a  fine-looking  gentleman,  scrupulously  well-dressed, 
even  to  his  gloves  and  cane,  she  felt  that  renown  and 
wealth  must  be  close  at  hand. 

"  Is  Dr.  Beswick  in  ?  "  demanded  the  caller. 

"  He  was  called  out  in  haste  to  see  a  patient,  who — was 
— taken  down  very  suddenly,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  expect 
him  back  every  moment.  "Will  you  come  in  and  wait  ?  " 

"  Can  I  see  Mrs.  Beswick  ?  "  said  the  stranger,  entering. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Beswick." 

"  I  am  Mr.  Millar d.  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Martin,  referred 
me  to  you.  The  occasion  of  my  coming  is  this  :  Miss  Cal- 
lender,  while  caring  for  my  little  cousin,  has  caught  diph 
theria."  * 

"  I'm  so  sorry.  You  mean  the  one  they  call  the  faith- 
doctor  ?  She's  such  a  sweet,  ladylike  person  !  She's  been 
here  to  see  the  doctor.  And  you  want  Dr.  Beswick  to 
attend  her  ?  " 

"  No ;  the  family  have  called  Dr.  Gunstone,  who  has 
been  their  physician  before." 

Mrs.  Beswick  was  visibly  disappointed.  It  seemed  so 
long  to  wait  until  Dr.  Beswick's  transcendent  ability  should 
be  recognized.  She  was  tired  of  hearing  of  Gunstone. 

"  I  would  like  to  send  a  good  nurse  to  care  for  Miss 
Callender,"  said  Millard,  "  since  she  got  her  sickness  by 
attention  to  my  little  cousin.  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Martin,  said 
that  the  nurse  Dr.  Beswick  sent  to  her  child  was  a  friend 
of  yours,  I  believe." 

"Yes;    I  was   in  the  hospital   with   her.     But  you 

25 


386  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

couldn't  get  Miss  Jackson,  who  nursed  the  little  Martin 
boy.  She's  going  to  take  charge  of  a  case  next  week.  It's 
a  first-rate  case  that  will  last  all  summer.  You  could  find 
a  good  nurse  by  going  to  the  New  York  Hospital." 

Millard  looked  hopeless.  After  a  moment  he  said: 
"  It  wouldn't  do.  You  see  the  family  of  Miss  Callender 
wouldn't  have  me  pay  for  a  nurse  if  they  knew  about  it. 
I  thought  I  might  get  this  Miss  Jackson  to  go  in  as  an 
acquaintance,  having  known  Miss  Callender  at  the  Mar 
tins'.  They  needn't  know  that  I  pay  her.  Don't  you 
think  I  could  put  somebody  in  her  place,  and  get  her  ?  " 

"  No ;  it's  a  long  case,  and  it  will  give  her  a  chance  to 
go  to  the  country,  and  the  people  have  waited  nearly  a 
week  to  get  her." 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  give  it  up.     Unless — unless — " 

Millard  paused  a  moment.     Then  he  said  : 

"  They  say  you  are  a  trained  nurse.  If,  now,  I  could 
coax  you  to  go  in  as  an  acquaintance  ?  You  have  met  her, 
and  you  like  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  ever  so  much  !  She's  so  good  and  friendly.  But 
I  don't  think  I  could  go.  The  doctor's  only  beginning, 
but  his  practice  is  improving  fast,  and  his  position,  you 
know,  might  be  affected  by  my  going  out  to  nurse  again." 

But  Mrs.  Beswick  looked  a  little  excited,  and  Millard, 
making  a  hurried  estimate  of  the  Beswick  financial  con 
dition  from  the  few  assets  visible,  concluded  that  the 
project  was  by  no  means  hopeless. 

"  I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  go  out  as  a  paid  nurse.  You 
would  go  and  tender  your  services  as  a  friend,"  he  said. 

"  I'd  feel  like  a  wretch  to  be  taking  pay  and  pretending 


MRS.  BESWICK.  387 

to  do  it  all  for  kindness,"  said  Mrs.  Beswick,  with  a  rueful 
laugh. 

"  Indeed,  it  would  be  a  kindness,  Mrs.  Beswick,  and  it 
might  save  a  valuable  life." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  till  I  consult  the  doctor," 
she  said,  dreaming  of  all  the  things  she  could  do  toward 
increasing  the  doctor's  respectability  if  she  had  a  little  ex 
tra  money.  "  I  can  not  see  that  it  would  hurt  his  practice 
if  managed  in  that  way." 

"  Indeed,  it  might  help  it,"  said  Millard,  seeing  Mrs. 
Beswick's  accessible  point.  "  You'd  make  the  friendship 
of  people  who  are  connected  with  the  first  families  of  the 
city,  and  you'd  make  the  acquaintance  of  Dr.  Gunstone, 
who  would  recognize  you  only  as  a  friend  of  Miss  Callen- 
der's." 

"  I'll  speak  to  the  doctor.  I'm  sure  I  wouldn't  do  it 
for  any  one  else.  I  couldn't  stay  away  all  the  time,  you 
know." 

"  Stay  whatever  time  you  can,  and  it  will  give  me 
pleasure  to  pay  you  at  the  highest  rate,  for  the  service  is  a 
very  delicate  one." 

"  I'll  feel  like  a  liar,"  she  said,  with  her  head  down, 
"pretending  to  do  it  all  for  nothing,  though,  indeed,  I 
wouldn't  go  for  anybody  else." 

"  Oh,  do  it  for  nothing.  We'll  have  no  bargain.  I'll 
make  you  a  present  when  you  are  done." 

"  That'll  be  better,"  she  said,  though  Millard  himself 
could  hardly  see  the  difference. 


XXXVII. 

DR.  GUNSTONE'S  DIAGNOSIS. 

MRS.  BESWICK,  at  the  cost  of  a  little  persistence  and  a 
good  many  caresses,  succeeded  in  getting  the  doctor  to 
consent  that  she  should  go  to  the  Calenders'.  The  risk 
of  contagion  she  pooh-poohed.  She  called  at  Mrs.  Callen- 
der's,  and,  again  by  a  little  persistence,  succeeded  in  laying 
off  her  hat  and  sack  and  ensconcing  herself  as  a  volunteer 
nurse  to  Phillida.  It  seemed  a  case  of  remarkable  disin 
terestedness  to  the  Callender  family,  and  a  case  of  unpar 
alleled  hypocrisy  to  Mrs.  Beswick,  but  she  could  not  be 
dissuaded  from  staying  from  the  early  morning  to  bed 
time,  assuring  Mrs.  Callender  that  she  would  rather  care 
for  her  daughter  than  for  any  one  else.  "  Except  the  doc 
tor,  of  course,"  she  added.  She  was  always  pleased  when 
she  could  contrive  to  mention  the  doctor;  no  topic  of 
conversation  brought  her  so  many  pleasurable  emotions. 
Phillida  became  fond  of  her  and  whenever  she  went  away 
longed  for  her  return. 

Robert  brought  flowers  every  day  in  Mrs.  Hilbrough's 
name,  and  Millard  called  to  inquire  as  often  as  he  thought 
proper.  The  tidings  secured  on  the  third  and  fourth 
days  indicated  that  the  attack  would  prove  a  lighter  one 
than  that  which  had  almost  cost  the  life  of  Tommy.  On 


DR.  GUNSTONE'S   DIAGNOSIS  389 

the  fifth  day  it  was  reported  that  Phillida  was  convales 
cent.  Dr.  Gunstone  had  announced  that  he  would  come 
no  more  unless  there  should  appear  symptoms  of  tempo 
rary  paralysis,  such  as  sometimes  follow  this  disease,  or 
unless  other  complications  should  arise.  Millard  thought 
it  would  be  more  prudent  and,  so  to  speak,  realistic,  to 
make  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  inquiries  and  his  own  less  fre 
quent  after  this.  He  and  Robert,  therefore,  called  on 
alternate  days.  On  Monday  it  was  Mr.  Millard  who 
called,  on  Tuesday  it  was  a  bunch  of  flowers  and  inquiries 
in  Mrs.  Hilbrough's  name.  But  Phillida's  progress  was 
so  slow  that  it  seemed  doubtful  after  some  days  whether 
she  made  any  advancement  at  all.  The  disease  had  quite 
disappeared,  but  strength  did  not  return.  At  the  end  of 
a  week  from  Dr.  Gunstone's  leave-taking,  the  family  were 
in  great  anxiety  lest  there  might  be  some  obscure  malady 
preying  on  her  strength,  and  there  was  talk  of  taking  her 
to  some  southern  place  to  meet  half-way  the  oncoming 
spring.  But  this  would  have  drawn  heavily  on  the  family 
savings,  which  were  likely  to  dwindle  fast  enough ;  the 
appearance  of  diphtheria  having  vacated  all  the  rooms  in 
the  house  at  a  time  when  there  was  small  hope  of  letting 
them  again  before  the  autumn. 

Milder  measures  than  a  trip  were  tried  first.  The 
arm-chair  in  which  she  sat  was  removed  into  the  front 
parlor  in  hope  that  a  slight  change  of  scene  might  be  an 
improvement ;  the  cheerful  sight  of  milk-wagons  and 
butcher-carts,  the  melodious  cries  of  old  clothes  buyers 
and  sellers  of  "  ba-nan-i-yoes  "  and  the  piping  treble  of 
girl-peddlers  of  horse-red-deesh  were  somehow  to  have  a 


390  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

tonic  effect  upon  her.  But  the  spectacle  of  the  rarely 
swept  paving-stones  of  a  side-street  in  the  last  days  of 
March  was  not  inspiriting.  Phillida  had  the  additional 
discomfort  of  involuntarily  catching  glimpses  of  her  own 
pallid  and  despondent  face  in  the  pier-glass  between  the 
windows. 

As  for  the  life  of  the  street,  it  seemed  to  her  to  belong 
to  a  world  in  which  she  no  longer  had  any  stake.  The 
shock  of  disillusion  regarding  faith-healing  had  destroyed 
for  the  time  a  good  deal  besides.  If  mistaken  in  one 
thing  she  might  be  in  many.  However  wholesome  and 
serviceable  a  critical  skepticism  may  prove  to  an  enthu 
siast  in  the  full  tide  of  health  and  activity,  to  Phillida 
broken  in  heart  and  hope  it  was  but  another  weight  to 
sink  her  to  the  bottom.  For  now  there  was  no  longer 
love  to  look  forward  to,  nor  was  she  even  able  to  interest 
herself  again  in  the  work  that  had  mainly  occupied  her 
life,  but  which  also  she  had  marred  by  her  errors.  Turn 
either  way  she  felt  that  she  had  spoiled  her  life. 

Looking  out  of  the  window  listlessly,  late  one  after 
noon,  her  attention  was  awakened  by  a  man  approaching 
with  some  cut  flowers  in  his  hand.  She  noticed  with  a 
curious  interest  that  he  wore  a  cap  like  the  one  she  had  re 
marked  in  the  hands  of  Millard's  valet.  As  he  passed  be 
neath  the  window,  she  distinctly  recognized  Robert  as  the 
man  Millard  had  sent  to  hasten  the  coming  of  the  coupe, 
and  when  he  mounted  the  steps  she  felt  her  pulses  beat 
more  quickly. 

Her  mother  entered  presently  with  the  flowers. 

"  From  Mrs.  Hilbrough  with  inquiries,"  Mrs.  Callen- 


DR.  QUNSTONE'S  DIAGNOSIS.  391 

der  read  from  the  card  as  she  arranged  the  flowers  in  a 
vase  on  the  low  marble  table  under  the  pier-glass. 

"  Mrs.  Hilbrough  ? "  said  Phillida  with  a  feeling  of 
disappointment.  "  But  that  was  Charley  Millard's  man." 

"  No,  that  is  the  man  Mrs.  Hilbrough  has  sent  ever 
since  you  were  taken  ill,"  said  the  mother.  "  He  speaks 
in  a  peculiar  English  way ;  did  you  hear  him  ?  You've 
got  a  better  color  this  evening,  I  declare." 

"  Mama,  that  is  Charley's  man,"  persisted  Phillida. 
"  I  saw  him  at  the  Graydon.  And  the  flowers  he  has 
brought  all  along  are  in  Charley's  taste — just  what  he 
used  to  send  me,  and  not  anything  out  of  Mrs.  Hil- 
brough's  conservatory.  Give  me  a  sip  of  water,  please." 
Phillida's  color  had  all  departed  now. 

Having  drunk  the  water  she  leaned  against  her  chair- 
back  and  closed  her  eyes.  Continuous  and  assiduous 
attention  from  Mrs.  Hilbrough  was  more  than  she  had 
expected ;  and  now  that  the  messenger  was  proven  to  be 
Millard's  own  man,  she  doubted  whether  there  were  not 
some  mystery  about  the  matter,  the  more  that  the  flowers 
sent  were  precisely  Millard's  favorites. 

The  next  day  Phillida  sat  alone  looking  into  the 
street,  as  the  twilight  of  a  cloudy  evening  was  falling 
earlier  than  usual,  when  Agatha  came  into  the  room  to 
light  two  burners,  with  a  notion  that  darkness  might  prove 
depressing  to  her  sister.  Phillida  turned  to  watch  the 
process  of  touching  a  match  to  the  gas,  as  an  invalid  is 
prone  to  seek  a  languid  diversion  in  the  least  things. 
When  the  gas  was  lighted  she  looked  out  of  the  window 
again,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  door-bell  sounded.  To 


THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

save  Sarah's  deserting  the  dinner  on  the  range,  Agatha  an 
swered  it.  Phillida,  with  a  notion  that  she  might  have  a 
chance  to  verify  her  recognition  of  Millard's  valet,  kept 
her  eyes  upon  the  portion  of  the  front  steps  that  was  vis 
ible  where  she  sat  She  saw  Millard  himself  descend  the 
steps  and  pass  in  front  of  her  window.  He  chanced  to 
look  up,  and  his  agitation  was  visible  even  from  where 
she  sat  as  he  suddenly  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed,  and  then 
hurried  away. 

The  night  that  followed  was  a  restless  one,  and  it  was 
evident  in  the  morning  that  Dr.  Gunstone  must  be  called 
again.  Mrs.  Callender  found  Phillida  so  weak  that  she 
hesitated  to  speak  to  her  of  a  note  she  had  received  in  the 
morning  mail.  It  might  do  good ;  it  might  do  harm  to 
let  her  know  its  contents.  Agatha  was  consulted  and  she 
turned  the  scale  of  Mrs.  Calender's  decision. 

"Phillida,  dear,"  said  the  mother,  "I  don't  know 
whether  I  ought  to  mention  it  to  you  or  not.  You  are 
very  weak  this  morning.  But  Charley  Millard  has  asked 
for  permission  to  make  a  brief  call.  Could  you  bear  to 
see  him?" 

Phillida's  face  showed  her  deeply  moved.  After  a 
pause  and  a  struggle  she  said  :  «  Charley  is  sorry  for  me, 
that  is  all.  He  thinks  I  may  die,  and  he  feels  grateful 
for  my  attention  to  his  aunt.  But  if  he  had  to  begin  over 
again  he  would  never  fall  in  love  with  me." 

"  You  don't  know  that,  Phillida.  You  are  depressed ; 
you  underestimate  yourself." 

"  With  his  advantages  he  could  take  his  choice  almost," 
said  Phillida.  "  It's  very  manly  of  him  to  be  so  constant 


DR.  GUNSTONE'S  DIAGNOSIS.  393 

to  an  unfortunate  and  broken-hearted  person  like  me. 
But  I  will  not  have  him  marry  me  out  of  pity." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  depressed  by  your  weakness.  I 
don't  think  you  ought  to  refuse  to  see  him  if  you  feel 
able,"  said  the  mother. 

"  I  am  not  able  to  see  him.  It  is  easier  to  refuse  in 
this  way  than  after  I  have  been  made  ill  by  too  much 
feeling.  I  am  not  going  to  subject  Charley  to  the  morti 
fication  of  taking  into  his  circle  a  wife  that  will  be  always 
remembered  as — as  a  sort  of  quack-doctor." 

Saying  this  Phillida  broke  down  and  wept. 

When  Agatha  heard  of  her  decision  she  came  in  and 
scolded  her  sister  roundly  for  a  goose.  This  made  Phil 
lida  weep  again,  but  there  was  a  firmness  of  will  at  the 
base  of  her  character  that  held  her  determination  un 
changed.  About  an  hour  later  she  begged  her  mother  to 
write  the  answer  at  her  dictation.  It  read  : 

"  Miss  Callender  wishes  me  to  say  that  she  is  not  able 
to  bear  an  interview.  With  the  utmost  respect  for  Mr. 
Millard  and  with  a  grateful  appreciation  of  his  kind 
attention  during  her  illness,  she  feels  sure  that  it  is  better 
not  to  renew  their  acquaintance." 

After  this  letter  was  sent  off  Phillida's  strength  began 
to  fail,  and  the  mother  and  sister  were  thrown  into  con 
sternation.  In  the  afternoon  Dr.  Gunstone  came  again. 
He  listened  to  the  heart,  he  examined  the  lungs,  he 
made  inquisition  for  symptoms  and  paused  baffled.  The 
old  doctor  understood  the  mind-cure  perfectly;  balked- 
in  his  search  for  physical  causes  he  said  to  Mrs.  Cal 
lender  : 


394:  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  Perhaps  if  I  could  speak  with  Miss  Callender  alone 
a  few  moments  it  might  be  better." 

"  I  have  no  secrets  from  mama,"  protested  Phillida. 

"That's  right,  my  child,"  said  Dr.  Gunstone  gravely, 
"  but  you  can  talk  with  more  freedom  to  one  person  than 
to  two.  I  want  to  see  your  mother  alone,  also,  when  I 
have  talked  with  you." 

Mrs.  Callender  retired  and  the  doctor  for  a  minute 
kept  up  a  simulation  of  physical  examination  in  order  to 
wear  away  the  restraint  which  Phillida  might  feel  at  being 
abruptly  left  for  a  confidential  conversation  with  her  phy 
sician. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  don't  try  to  get  well,  Miss  Callender," 
he  said. 

"  Does  trying  make  any  difference  ?  "  demanded  Phil 
lida. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure ;  that's  the  way  that  the  mesmerists 
and  magnetizers,  and  the  new  faith-cure  people  work  their 
cures  largely.  They  enlist  the  will,  and  they  do  some 
good.  They  often  help  chronic  invalids  whom  the  doc 
tors  have  failed  to  benefit." 

Dr.  Gunstone  had  his  hand  on  Phillida's  wrist,  and 
he  could  not  conjecture  why  her  pulse  increased  rap 
idly  at  this  point  in  the  conversation.  But  he  went 
on : 

"  Have  you  really  tried  to  get  well  ?  Have  you  wanted 
to  get  well  as  soon  as  possible  ?  " 

"On  mama's  account  I  ought  to  wish  to  get  well,"  she 
said. 

"But  you  are  young  and  you  have  much  happiness 


DR.  GUNSTONE'S  DIAGNOSIS.  395 

before  you.  Don't  you  wish  to  get  well  on  your  own  ac 
count?" 

Phillida  shook  her  head  despondently. 

"  Now,  my  child,  I  am  an  old  man  and  your  doctor. 
May  I  ask  whether  you  are  engaged  to  be  married  ?  " 

"  No,  doctor,  I  am  not,"  said  Phillida,  trying  to  con 
jecture  why  he  asked  this  question. 

"  Have  you  been  engaged  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Phillida. 

"  And  the  engagement  was  broken  off  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Eecently  ?  " 

"  Yes,  rather  recently.     This  last  winter." 

"  Now,  tell  me  as  your  doctor,  whether  or  not  the  cir 
cumstances  connected  with  that  interruption  of  your  love- 
affair  have  depressed  you — have  made  you  not  care  much 
about  living  ?  " 

Phillida's  "  I  suppose  they  have  "  was  almost  inaudi 
ble. 

"  Now,  my  child,  you  must  not  let  these  things  weigh 
upon  you.  The  world  will  not  always  look  dark.  Try  to 
see  it  more  lightly.  I  think  you  must  go  away.  You 
must  have  a  change  of  scene  and  you  must  see  people.  I 
will  find  your  mother.  Good-morning,  Miss  Callender." 

And  with  that  the  doctor  shook  hands  in  his  half- 
sympathetic,  half-reserved  manner,  and  went  out  into  the 
hall. 

Mrs.  Callender,  who  was  waiting  at  the  top  of  the  stairs, 
came  down  and  encountered  him. 

"  May  I  see  you  alone  a  moment  ?  "  said  the  doctor, 


396  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

looking  at  his  watch,  which  always  seemed  to  go  too  fast 
to  please  him. 

Mrs.  Callender  led  the  way  to  the  basement  dining- 
room,  below,  beckoning  Agatha,  who  sat  there,  to  go  up 
to  her  sister. 

"Mrs.  Callender,  there  is  in  your  daughter's  case  an 
interrupted  love  affair  which  is  depressing  her  health, 
and  which  may  cut  short  her  life.  Do  you  think  that 
the  engagement  is  broken  off  for  all  time,  or  is  it  but  a 
tiff  ?  " 

"I  hardly  know,  doctor.  My  daughter  is  a  peculiar 
person ;  she  is  very  good,  but  with  ideas  of  her  own.  We 
hardly  understand  the  cause  of  the  disagreement — or  why 
she  still  refuses  to  see  the  young  man." 

"  Has  the  young  man  shown  any  interest  in  Miss  Cal 
lender  since  the  engagement  ceased  ?  " 

"  He  has  called  here  several  times  during  her  sickness 
to  inquire,  and  he  sent  a  note  this  morning  asking  to  see 
her.  She  has  declined  to  see  him,  while  expressing  a  great 
esteem  for  him." 

"  That's  bad.  You  do  not  regard  him  as  an  objection 
able  person  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  quite  the  contrary." 

"  It  is  my  opinion  that  Miss  Calender's  recovery  may 
depend  on  the  renewal  of  that  engagement.  If  that  is  out 
of  the  question — and  it  is  a  delicate  matter  to  deal  with— 
especially  as  the  obstacle  is  in  her  own  feelings,  she  must 
have  travel.  She  ought  to  have  change  of  scene,  and  she 
ought  to  meet  people.  Take  her  South,  or  North,  or  East, 
or  West — to  Europe  or  anywhere  else,  so  as  to  be  rid  of 


DR.  GUNSTONE'S  DIAGNOSIS.  397 

local  associations,  and  to  see  as  many  new  things  and 
people  as  possible.  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Callender." 

Having  said  this  the  old  doctor  mounted  the  basement 
stairs  too  nimbly  for  Mrs.  Callender  to  keep  up  with  him. 
When  she  reached  the  top  he  had  already  closed  the  front 
door  and  a  moment  later  the  wheels  of  his  barouche  were 
rattling  violently  over  the  irregular  pavement  that  lay  be 
tween  the  Callender  house  and  Third  Avenue. 

To  take  Phillida  away — that  was  the  hard  problem  the 
doctor  had  given  to  Mrs.  Callender.  For  with  the  love 
affair  the  mother  might  not  meddle  with  any  prospect  of 
success.  But  the  formidable  barrier  to  a  journey  was  the 
expense. 

"  Where  would  you  like  to  go,  Phillida  ?  "  said  her 
mother. 

"  To  Siam.  I'd  like  to  see  the  things  and  the  people  I 
saw  when  I  was  a  child,  when  papa  was  with  us  and  when 
it  was  easy  to  believe  that  everything  that  happened  was 
for  the  best.  It  would  be  about  as  easy  for  us  to  go  to 
Siam  as  anywhere  else,  for  we  haven't  the  money  to  spare 
to  go  anywhere.  I  sit  and  dream  of  the  old  house,  and 
the  yellow  people,  and  the  pleasure  of  being  a  child,  and 
the  comfort  of  believing.  I  am  tired  to  death  of  this 
great,  thinking,  pushing,  western  world,  with  its  restless 
ness  and  its  unbelief.  If  I  were  in  the  East  I  could  be 
lieve  and  hope,  and  not  worry  about  what  Philip  calls  '  the 
immensities.' " 


XXXVIII. 

PHILIP'S  CONFESSION. 

IT  was  evident  that  something  must  be  done  speedily 
to  save  Phillida  from  a  decline  that  might  end  in  death, 
or  from  that  chronic  invalidism  which  is  almost  worse. 
All  sort  of  places  were  thought  of,  but  the  destination  was 
at  last  narrowed  down  to  the  vicinity  of  Hampton  Eoads, 
as  the  utmost  limit  that  any  prudent  expenditure  would 
allow  the  Cal lenders  to  venture  upon.  Even  this  would 
cost  what  ordinary  caution  forbade  them  to  spend,  and 
Phillida  held  out  stoutly  against  any  trip  until  the  solici 
tude  of  her  mother  and  sister  bore  down  all  objections. 

Not  long  after  Dr.  Gunstone's  visit,  Mrs.  Callender  re 
ceived  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Hilbrough  expressing  anxiety 
regarding  Phillida,  and  regretting  that  her  husband's 
horror  of  diphtheria  still  prevented  her  from  calling.  She 
continued : 

"  I  very  much  wish  to  do  something  by  which  I  can 
show  my  love  for  Phillida.  Won't  you  let  me  bear  the 
expense  of  a  trip  southward,  if  you  think  that  will  do 
good  ?  If  you  feel  delicate  about  it,  consider  it  a  loan  to 
be  paid  whenever  it  shall  be  convenient,  but  it  would  give 
me  great  happiness  if  I  might  be  allowed  to  do  this  little 
act  of  affection." 


PHILIP'S  CONFESSION.  399 

Mrs.  Callender  showed  the  note  to  Phillida.  "  It  would 
save  our  selling  the  bonds,"  she  said,  "  but  I  do  not  like 
to  go  in  debt,  and  of  course  we  would  repay  it  by  degrees." 

"  It  is  a  trifle  to  her,"  said  Phillida,  "  and  I  think  we 
might  accept  two  hundred  dollars  or  more  as  a  loan  to  be 
repaid." 

"  Well,  if  you  think  so,  Phillida,  but  I  do  hate  to  be 
in  debt." 

Phillida  sat  thinking  for  a  minute.  Then  her  pale 
face  colored. 

"  Did  the  letter  come  by  mail  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Callender  examined  the  envelope.  "  I  thought  it 
came  from  the  postman,  but  there  is  no  postmark ;  Sarah 
brought  it  to  me." 

"  Suppose  you  ask  Sarah  to  come  up,"  said  Phillida. 

On  Sarah's  arrival  Phillida  asked  her  who  brought  this 
letter. 

"  It  wuz  that  young  man  with  the  short  side  whiskers 
just  under  his  ears  and  a  cap  that's  got  a  front  before  and 
another  one  behind,  so't  I  don't  see  for  the  life  of  me  how 
he  gets  it  on  right  side  before." 

"  The  man  that  brought  flowers  when  I  was  sick  ?  " 

"  That  very  same,  Miss." 

"  All  right,  Sarah.  That'll  do."  Then  when  Sarah 
had  gone  Phillida  leaned  her  head  back  and  said : 

"  It  won't  do,  Mother.     We  can't  accept  it." 

It  was  a  tedious  week  after  Dr.  Gunstone's  last  visit 
before  a  trip  was  finally  determined  on  and  a  destination 
selected,  and  Mrs.  Callender,  who  had  a  genius  for  thor 
oughness,  demanded  yet  another  week  in  which  to  get 


400  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

ready.  Phillida,  meanwhile,  sat  wearily  waiting  for  to 
morrow  to  follow  to-day. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  one  day,  rousing  herself  from  a 
reverie,  "  what  a  good  fellow  Cousin  Philip  is,  after  all ! 
I  used  to  feel  a  certain  dislike  for  what  seemed  to  me  ir 
resolution  and  inactivity  in  him.  But  ever  since  I  was 
taken  sick  he  has  been  just  like  a  brother  to  me." 

"  He  has  taken  charge  of  us,"  said  Mrs.  Callender. 
"  He  has  inquired  about  board  for  us  at  Hampton,  and  he 
has  worked  out  all  the  routes  by  rail  and  steamboat." 

Philip's  kindness  to  his  aunt's  family  was  originally 
self-moved,  but,  as  Phillida  convalesced,  his  mother  con 
trived  to  send  him  with  messages  to  her,  and  even  sug 
gested  to  him  that  his  company  would  be  cheering  to  his 
cousin.  Philip  sat  and  chatted  with  her  an  hour  every 
day,  but  the  exercise  did  not  raise  his  spirits  in  the  least. 
For  his  mother  frequently  hinted  that  if  he  had  courage 
he  would  be  more  prompt  to  avail  himself  of  his  opportu 
nities  in  life.  Philip  could  have  no  doubt  as  to  what  his 
mother  meant  by  opportunities  in  life,  and  he  knew  better 
than  any  one  else  that  he  was  prone  to  waste  his  haymak 
ing  sunshine  in  timid  procrastinations.  But  how  to  make 
love  to  Phillida  ?  How  offer  his  odd  personality  to  such  a 
woman  as  she  ?  His  mother's  severe  hints  about  young 
men  who  could  not  pluck  ripe  fruit  hanging  ready  to  their 
hand  spurred  him,  but  whenever  he  was  in  Phillida's  pres 
ence  something  of  preoccupation  in  her  mental  attitude 
held  him  back  from  tender  words.  He  thought  himself  a 
little  ridiculous,  and  when  he  tried  to  imagine  himself 
making  love  he  thought  that  he  would  be  ten  times  more 


PHILIP'S  CONFESSION. 

absurd.  If  lie  could  have  got  into  his  favorite  position  in 
an  arin-chair  and  could  have  steadied  his  nerves  by  syn 
chronous  smoking,  as  he  was  accustomed  to  do  whenever 
he  had  any  embarrassing  business  matters  to  settle,  he 
might  have  succeeded  in  expressing  to  Phillida  the  smol 
dering  passion  that  made  life  a  bitterness  not  to  be  sweet 
ened  even  by  Caxton  imprints  and  Bedford-bound  John 
Smiths  of  1624. 

He  always  knew  that  if  he  should  ever  succeed  in 
letting  Phillida  know  of  his  affection  it  would  be  by  a  sud 
den  charge  made  before  his  diffidence  could  rally  to 
oppose  him.  He  had  once  or  twice  in  his  life  done  bold 
things  by  catching  his  dilatory  temper  napping.  With 
this  idea  he  went  every  day  to  call  on  Phillida,  hoping 
that  a  fit  of  desperation  might  carry  him  at  a  bound 
over  the  barrier.  At  first  he  looked  for  some  very  fa 
vorable  opportunity,  but  after  several  visits  he  would  have 
been  willing  to  accept  one  that  offered  the  least  encour 
agement. 

There  were  but  a  few  days  left  before  Phillida's  de 
parture  southward,  and  if  he  should  allow  her  to  escape  he 
would  incur  the  bitter  reproaches  of  his  own  conscience, 
and,  what  seemed  even  worse,  the  serious  disapproval  of 
Mrs.  Grouverneur. 

Phillida  and  her  mother  were  to  leave  on  Friday  after 
noon  by  the  Congressional  Limited  for  Baltimore,  and  to 
take  boat  down  the  bay  on  Saturday-  Philip  had  arranged 
it  all.  It  was  now  Tuesday,  and  the  time  for  "  improving 
his  opportunity  in  life  "  was  short.  On  this  Tuesday  after 
noon  he  talked  an  hour  to  Phillida,  but  he  could  not 

28 


402  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

possibly  cause  the  conversation  to  swing  around  so  as  to 
be  able,  even  with  considerable  violence,  to  make  the  tran 
sition  he  desired.  He  first  let  her  lead,  and  she  talked  to 
him  about  the  East  and  the  queer  ways  of  the  yellow 
Mongolians  she  remembered.  These  memories  of  early 
childhood,  in  the  blessed  period  when  care  and  responsi 
bility  had  not  yet  disturbed  the  spirit's  freedom,  brought 
her  a  certain  relief  from  gnawing  reflections.  When  she 
tired  it  was  his  turn  to  lead,  and  he  soon  slipped  into 
his  old  grooves  and  entertained  her  with  stories  of  the 
marvelous  prices  fetched  by  Mazarin  Bibles,  and  with  ac 
counts  of  people  who  had  discovered  "  f ourteeners  "  in 
out-of-the-way  places,  and  such  like  lore  of  the  old  book 
shop.  All  the  time  he  was  tormented  by  a  despairing 
under- thought  that  love-making  was  just  as  far  from 
book-collecting  as  it  was  from  Phillida's  Oriental  memo 
ries.  At  length  the  under- thought  suppressed  the  upper 
ones,  and  he  paused  and  looked  out  of  the  window  and 
drew  his  small  form  down  on  the  chair,  assuming  his 
favorite  attitude,  while  he  supported  his  right  elbow  with 
his  left  hand  and  absent-mindedly  held  the  fingers  of  the 
right  hand  near  his  lips  as  though  to  support  an  imagi 
nary  cigar. 

"  Philip,"  said  the  invalid,  embarrassed  by  the  silence, 
"  I  envy  you  your  interest  in  books." 

"  You  do  ?  "  Philip  moved  his  right  hand  as  he  might 
have  done  in  removing  a  cigar  from  the  mouth  and  turned 
toPhillida.  "Why?" 

"  It  saves  you  from  being  crushed  by  the  immensities 
as  you  call  them.  I  suppose  it  has  consoled  you  in  many 


PHILIP'S  CONFESSION.  403 

a  trouble,  and  no  doubt  it  has  kept  you  from  the  miseries 
of  falling  in  love." 

She  laid  her  thin  hand  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  as  she 
spoke. 

"  Kept  me  from  falling  in  love,"  gasped  Philip,  aware 
that  his  now-or-never  had  arrived,  "  how  do  you  know 
that?" 

"  I  never  heard  that  you  were  in  love  with  any 
body.  Excuse  me  if  I  have  trodden  on  forbidden 
ground." 

"  I  have  loved  but  one  woman,  and  I'm  such  a  coward 
that  I  never  had  the  courage  to  tell  her,"  he  said  abruptly, 
at  the  same  time  restoring  his  imaginary  cigar  to  his 
mouth. 

"  That's  a  pity,"  she  said. 

"  What  a  figure  I'd  cut  as  a  lover  !  Little,  lank,  nerv 
ous,  eccentric  in  manner,  peculiar  in  my  opinions,  lacking 
resolution  to  undertake  anything  worth  while,  frittering 
away  my  time  in  gathering  rare  books— what  woman  would 
think  of  me?" 

"Philip,  you  have  many  excellent  qualities,  and  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  marriage  would  be  good  for  you,"  said 
Phillida,  in  that  motherly  tone  that  only  a  young  woman 
can  assume  easily. 

"  You'd  laugh  at  me  as  long  as  you  live  if  I  should  tell 
you  whom  I  have  dared  to  love  without  ever  daring  to 
confess."  His  face  was  averted  as  he  said  this. 

"  You  poor  fellow,"  said  Phillida,  u  you  are  always 
doubtful  of  yourself.  Come,  I  think  you  had  better  tell 
me ;  may  be  I  can  encourage  you,  and  it  will  give  me 


401  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

something  to  think  about  and  keep  away  thoughts  that  I 
don't  wish  to  think." 

Philip  drew  a  long  breath  and  then  said  slowly  and 
with  a  firm,  voice,  but  with  his  eyes  on  the  window  fasten 
ings : 

"  The  woman  I  love  and  have  loved  for  a  long  time  is 
my  Cousin  Phillida." 

"  You  are  joking,  Philip,"  said  Phillida,  but  her  voice 
died  as  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  in  his  old  desponding  tone,  "  I 
knew  it  would  seem  ridiculous  to  you.  That's  why  I  never 
spoke  of  it  before." 

He  looked  out  of  the  window  in  silence,  and  presently 
became  aware  that  Phillida  was  weeping. 

"  0  God !  let  me  die,"  she  murmured  in  a  broken 
voice.  "  I  am  doomed  to  work  only  misery  in  the 
world.  Isn't  it  enough  to  have  blighted  the  happiness  of 
Charley,  whom  I  loved  and  still  love  in  spite  of  myself  ? 
Must  I  also  plunge  Philip  into  misery  who  has  been 
more  than  a  brother  to  me?  If  I  could  only  die  and 
escape  from  this  wretched  life  before  I  do  any  further 
harm." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  said  anything,  Phillida.  Forget  it. 
Forget  it,  please."  He  said  in  an  alarmed  voice,  rising  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Cousin,"  said  Phillida,  "  you  are  the  best  friend  I 
have.  But  you  must  not  love  me.  There  is  nothing  left 
for  me.  Nothing — but  to  die.  Good-by." 

That  evening  Philip  did  not  appear  at  dinner  and  his 
mother  sent  to  inquire  the  reason. 


PHILIP'S  CONFESSION.  405 

"  Mr.  Philip  says  he  has  a  headache,  and  will  not  come 
down,"  said  the  maid  on  her  return. 

After  dinner  the  mother  sought  his  room  with  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  a  bit  of  toast.  Philip  was  lying  on  the 
lounge  in  his  book-room  with  the  gas  turned  low. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Philip  ?  Is  your  throat  sore  ? 
Are  there  any  signs  of  diphtheria  ?  "  demanded  his  moth 
er  anxiously. 

"  No,  I  am  all  right.  A  little  out  of  sorts.  Only  just 
let  me  be  quiet." 

"  Has  anything  gone  wrong  ?  " 

"  Nothing  more  than  common." 

"  Something  has  worried  you.  Now,  Philip,  I  can  see 
plainly  that  you  are  worrying  about  Phillida.  Why  don't 
you  speak  your  mind  if  you  care  for  her,  and  have  it  over 
with?" 

"  It  is  over  with,  mother,"  said  Philip. 

"And  she  refused  you?"  said  Mrs.  Gouverneur,  with 
rising  indignation,  for  she  thought  it  rather  a  descent  for 
Philip  to  offer  himself  to  Phillida  or  to  anybody  else. 

"No,  she  didn't  refuse  me.  I  didn't  formally  offer 
myself.  But  I  let  her  know  how  I  felt  toward  her. 
She'll  never  accept  me." 

"  May  be  she  will,"  said  the  mother.  "  Girls  don't  like 
to  accept  at  the  first  hint." 

"  No,  she  was  kind  and  even  affectionate  with  me,  and 
broke  her  heart  over  my  confession  that  I  loved  her,  so 
that  I'm  afraid  I  have  done  her  a  great  deal  of  harm." 

"  How  do  you  know  she  will  never  accept  you,  you 
faint-hearted  boy  ?  " 


406  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  She  let  me  see  her  whole  heart.  She  loves  Charley 
Millard  as  much  as  ever,  but,  I  think,  for  some  reason  she 
doesn't  expect  or  wish  a  renewal  of  the  engagement.  She 
called  me  the  best  friend  she  had  in  the  world,  next  to 
Charley  Millard.  That's  an  end  of  it.  A  good  deal  more 
of  an  end  of  it  than  a  flat  refusal  might  have  been." 

"  She's  a  foolish  and  perverse  girl,  who  has  compro 
mised  her  family  and  ruined  her  own  prospects,"  said  Mrs. 
Gouverneur.  "  Your  aunt  told  me  to-day  that  Dr.  Gun- 
stone  thinks  she  is  going  to  die  of  her  disappointment 
about  Charley  unless  the  engagement  can  be  renewed. 
But  Phillida  has  determined  not  to  allow  a  renewal  of  it. 
She's  always  doing  something  foolish.  Now,  eat  a  little 
dinner,  or  take  your  coffee  at  least." 

"  Leave  the  things  here,  mother.  May  be  I'll  eat  after 
a  while." 

Half  an  hour  later  Mrs.  Gouverneur,  uneasy  regarding 
Philip,  returned  to  his  library  to  find  the  food  as  she  had 
left  it. 

On  inquiry  she  learned  that  Philip  had  just  gone  out. 
Whither  and  for  what  purpose  he  had  sallied  forth  din- 
nerless  she  could  not  divine,  and  the  strangeness  of  his 
action  did  not  reassure  her.  She  was  on  the  point  of 
speaking  to  her  husband  about  it,  but  he  had  so  little  in 
common  with  Philip,  and  was  of  a  temper  so  fixed  and 
stolid,  that  his  advice  would  not  have  availed  anything. 
It  never  did  avail  anything  certainly  in  the  first  hour  or 
two  after  dinner. 


XXXIX. 

PHILIP   IMPROVES   AN   OPPORTUNITY. 

THE  intimacy  between  Millard  and  Philip  Gouverneur 
had  long  languished.  Philip  was  naturally  critical  of 
Charley  after  he  became  the  accepted  lover  of  Phillida, 
and  their  relations  were  not  bettered  by  the  breaking  off 
of  the  engagement.  Phillida's  cousin  felt  that  he  owed  it 
to  her  not  to  seem  to  condemn  her  in  the  matter  by  a  too 
great  intimacy  with  the  lover  who  had  jilted  or  been 
jilted  by  her,  nobody  could  tell  which,  not  even  the  pair 
themselves.  Moreover  Philip  had  for  years  taken  a  faint 
pleasure  in  considering  himself  as  a  possible  suitor  to 
Phillida.  He  found  the  enjoyment  of  a  solitary  cigar 
enhanced  by  his  ruminations  regarding  the  possibilities  of 
a  life  glorified — no  weaker  word  could  express  his  thought 
— by  the  companionship  of  Phillida,  little  as  he  had  ever 
hoped  for  such  a  culmination  of  his  wishes.  But  this 
love  for  Phillida  served  to  complicate  his  relations  with 
Millard.  So  that  it  had  now  been  long  since  he  had  vis 
ited  The  Graydon.  Nevertheless  on  this  evening  of  his 
sudden  and  dinnerless  departure  from  home,  the  night 
clerk  remembered  him  and  let  him  go  up  to  apartment 
79  without  the  ceremony  of  sending  his  card. 

Millard,  who  was  writing,  received   Philip  with  some 


408  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

surprise  and  a  curiosity  mixed  with  solicitude  regarding 
the  purpose  of  his  call.  But  he  put  up  his  pen  and  spoke 
with  something  of  the  old  cordial  manner  that  had  won 
the  heart  of  Gouverneur  some  years  before. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again,  Philip.  I  began  to  think 
you  were  not  coming  any  more.  Sit  down,"  said  Millard. 
"  How  is  book-collecting  ?  Anything  startling  lately  ?  "  he 
added  by  way  of  launching  the  talk,  as  he  usually  did  on 
the  favorite  subject  of  his  companion. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Philip,  seating  himself. 

"  I've  not  seen  much  of  you  lately,  anywhere,"  said 
Millard,  making  a  new  start.  "  But  that  is  my  fault.  I've 
pretty  much  cut  general  society  this  spring,  and  I  think 
for  good.  I've  been  busy  and  tired,  and  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  don't  care  much  for  society  any  more.  You  still  go  out 
a  good  deal.  Is  there  anything  interesting  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Gouverneur. 

Seeing  that  Philip  was  preoccupied  and  that  all 
attempts  to  give  him  direction  and  set  him  in  motion 
were  likely  to  prove  futile,  Charley  concluded  to  let  him 
start  himself  in  whatever  direction  his  mood  might  lead 
him.  He  did  this  the  more  readily  that  he  himself  found 
talking  hard  work  in  his  present  mood.  But  by  way  of 
facilitating  the  start,  Millard  held  out  to  Philip  a  bronze 
tray  containing  some  cigars. 

"No,  thank  you,  Charley.  I  don't  feel  like  smok 
ing." 

To  Millard 's  mind  nothing  could  have  been  more  omi 
nous  than  for  Philip  Gouverneur  to  refuse  to  smoke. 

"  I  suppose  I  might  as  well  begin  at  once,"  said  Philip. 


PHILIP   IMPROVES  AN  OPPORTUNITY. 

"  If  I  wait  I  never  shall  get  the  courage  to  say  what  I 
want  to  say.  I  ought  to  have  waited  till  morning,  but  if  I 
once  put  on0  a  good  resolution  it  is  never  carried  out.  So 
I  came  down  here  pell-mell,  Charley,  resolved  not  to  give 
myself  time  to  think  what  a  piece  of  impertinent  impu 
dence  I  was  going  to  be  guilty  of."  Then  after  a  pause 
he  said :  "  If  you  turn  me  out  of  the  apartment  neck  and 
heels,  I  sha'n't  be  surprised." 

"  Pshaw,  Philip,  you  excite  my  curiosity,"  said  Mil- 
lard,  trying  to  smile,  but  yet  a  little  aghast  at  seeing  his 
old  friend  in  this  unusual  mood,  and  divining  that  the 
subject  would  be  disagreeable. 

"  I  come  to  speak  about  Phillida,"  said  Philip. 

Ever  since  Millard's  hopes  had  received  their  quietus 
from  Mrs.  Callender's  note  in  which  Phillida  declined  to 
receive  a  visit  from  him,  he  had  recognized  the  necessity 
for  getting  Phillida  out  of  his  mind  if  he  were  ever  again 
to  have  any  sane  contentment  in  life.  If  Phillida  did  not 
any  longer  care  for  him,  it  would  be  unmanly  for  him  to 
continue  brooding  over  the  past.  But  he  found  that  ex 
horting  himself  to  manliness  would  not  cure  a  heartache. 
There  was  nothing  he  could  have  dreaded  so  much  at  this 
time  as  a  conversation  about  Phillida,  and,  of  all  people 
he  most  disliked  to  speak  of  her  with  Philip  Gouverneur. 
He  made  no  reply  at  all  to  Philip's  blunt  statement  of  the 
subject  on  which  he  proposed  to  converse.  But  Gouver 
neur  was  too  much  absorbed  in  holding  himself  to  his 
plan  of  action  to  take  note  of  his  companion's  lack  of 
responsiveness. 

"  I   want  to  ask  whether  you  still  love  her  or  not, 


4:10  THE   FAITH   DOCTOR. 

Charley,"  said  Philip,  with  a  directness  that  seemed  brutal, 
his  gaze  fixed  on  the  wall. 

"  I  have  no  claims  upon  her,"  said  Millard,  "  if  that  is 
what  you  want  to  know." 

"  That  isn't  what  I  want  to  know.  I  asked  if  you  still 
loved  her?" 

"  I  don't  know  whether  even  you  have  a  right  to  ask 
that  question,"  said  Millard  with  manifest  annoyance. 

"  I  am  her  cousin,"  said  Philip,  looking  up  at  Millard 
with  eyes  strangely  unsteady  and  furtive. 

"  If  there  were  any  charge  that  I  had  wronged  her,  you, 
as  her  cousin,  might  have  a  right  to  inquire,"  said  Millard, 
who  fancied  that  Gouverneur  had  a  personal  end  in  mak 
ing  the  inquiry,  and  who  at  any  rate  did  not  care  to  be 
known  as  a  discarded  and  broken-hearted  lover.  "  I'll 
tell  you  plainly  that  it  is  a  subject  on  which  I  don't  wish 
to  speak  with  anybody.  Besides  it's  hardly  fair  to  come 
to  me  as  Phillida's  cousin,  when  there  is  reason  to  believe 
your  feelings  toward  her  are  more  than  cousinly.  I  have 
no  claims  on  Phillida,  no  expectation  of  a  renewal  of  our 
engagement,  and  I  certainly  have  no  complaint  to  make 
of  her.  Nobody  has  any  right  to  inquire  further." 

Charley  Millard  got  up  and  walked  the  floor  in  excite 
ment  as  he  said  this. 

"  You're  plaguey  cross,  Charley  I  never  saw  you  so 
impolite  before.  Didn't  know  you  could  be.  I  suppose 
you're  right,  by  Jupiter !  I  went  too  straight  at  the 
mark,  and  you  had  a  right  to  resent  it.  But  I  had  to  go 
at  it  like  a  man  having  a  tooth  pulled,  for  fear  I'd  back 
out  at  the  last  moment." 


PHILIP  IMPROVES  AN  OPPORTUNITY. 

There  was  a  ten  seconds'  pause,  during  which  Millard 
sat  down.  Then  Philip  spoke  again. 

"  I  know,  Charley ;  you  have  misunderstood.  You 
think  I  wish  to  get  a  disclaimer  that  will  clear  the 
way  for  me.  Charley — "  Philip  spoke  now  in  a  voice 
low  and  just  a  little  husky, — "if  I  loved  Phillida  and 
believed  she  could  love  me,  do  you  think  I'd  wait  to 
ask  your  permission  ?  If  I  wished  to  marry  her  and 
she  loved  me,  I  wouldn't  ask  any  man's  permission ! 
And  I  came  here  not  in  my  own  interest,  nor  in  your 
interest  either.  I  am  here  only  for  Phillida's  sake  and 
as  her  cousin,  and  I  want  to  know  whether  you  love 
her." 

"  If  you  want  me  to  do  anything  for  her,  I  am  ready. 
That  is  all  I  ought  to  be  required  to  say,"  said  Millard, 
softened  by  Philip's  evident  emotion,  but  bent  on  not  be 
traying  his  own  feelings. 

"  I  suppose  that  means  that  you  don't  care  for  her," 
said  Gouverneur.  Then  he  went  on,  looking  into  the 
fireplace :  "  Well,  that's  an  end  of  it.  What  an  idiot 
she  has  been !  She  has  thrown  you  over  and  alienated 
your  affections,  and  made  herself  the  talk  of  the  streets. 
You  wouldn't  think  such  a  fine-looking  woman  could 
make  herself  so  utterly  ridiculous.  She  is  a  mortification 
to  her  relations,  and — " 

"  Now,  Philip,  stop,"  said  Millard,  with  heat.  "  You 
are  in  my  house.  No  man  shall  say  a  word  against  that 
woman  in  my  hearing  while  I  live.  I  tell  you  that  even 
her  mistakes  are  noble.  If  her  relatives  are  ashamed  of 
such  as  she  is,  I  am  sorry  for  her  relatives."  Millard 


412  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

made  an  effort  to  say  more,  but  his  utterance  was 
choked. 

Philip  laughed  a  sardonic  little  laugh. 

"  Charley,  before  God,  I  was  not  sincere  in  a  word  I 
said  against  Phillida.  1  lied  with  deliberate  purpose. 
Now  I  know  that  you  love  her.  That's  what  I  wanted  to 
find  out.  I  only  denounced  her  to  get  at  your  feelings. 
You  wouldn't  tell  me,  I  had  to  resort  to  a  ruse." 

"  Do  you  think  it — do  you  think  it's  the  thing  to  pry 
into  my  feelings  ?  "  said  Millard,  still  speaking  hotly. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  under  the  circumstances.  In  return  I'll 
tell  you  something  worth  your  listening  to,  if  you'll  only 
cool  off  enough  to  hear  it." 

Millard's  curiosity  was  excited  by  this,  but  he  made 
no  reply ;  he  only  sat  still  with  Philip's  eyes  fixed  upon 
him. 

"  Phillida  loves  you,"  said  Philip. 

Millard  looked  steadily  at  the  smallish  figure  of  his 
old  friend,  not  shrunken  into  the  chair  as  usual  now,  but 
sitting  upright  and  looking  straight  at  him  with  a  strange 
look  he  had  never  seen  before. 

"Philip,"  he  said  softly,  "how  do  you  know  this? 
Tell  me,  for  God's  sake  ! " 

"  I  must  not  betray  confidence,"  said  Philip.  "  You 
know  me,  your  friend  and  Phillida's.  I  am  here  to 
night —  I  might  say  heart-broken,  I  can  hardly  say 
disappointed.  I  don't  blame  Phillida  for  not  caring 
for  me  except  as  a  cousin,  or  for  preferring  you.  On 
the  whole,  if  I  were  in  her  place  I'd  do  the  same,  by 
George  ! " 


PHILIP  IMPROVES  AN  OPPORTUNITY.          413 

Philip  laughed  again,  that  little  laugh  which  pained 
hi^  friend. 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  tell  me  this,  Philip  ? "  Mil- 
lard  was  sitting  now  with  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  the 
fingers  of  his  right  hand  supporting  his  cheek,  as  he  re 
garded  Philip  steadily. 

"  Well,  if  one  can  not  contrive  to  do  what  one  wants, 
he  should,  I  suppose,  do  the  second  best  thing.  The  only 
thing  for  me  to  do — the  thing  that'll  be  a  comfort  for  me 
to  look  back  on— is  to  render  Phillida  some  service.  In 
short,  to  save  her  life  and  make  her  happy." 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  do  that  ?  "  asked  Millard. 

"  I've  already  done  it,  old  fellow,"  said  Philip,  with  a 
mixture  of  triumph  and  regret  in  his  voice.  "  Dr.  Gun- 
stone  said  to  Aunt  Callender,  after  talking  with  Phillida, 
that  unless  her  engagement  with  you  were  renewed  she 
would  probably  not  recover.  I  wouldn't  have  told  you 
this  for  the  world  if  I  had  found  you  didn't  love  her. 
She'd  better  die  now  than  marry  you  and  discover  that 
you  married  her  from  pity." 

Millard  went  to  his  desk  and  took  out  the  note  from 
Mrs.  Callender  in  which  Phillida  had  refused  to  see  him. 
He  handed  it  to  Philip. 

"  I  got  that  last  week,  and  it  seemed  final,"  he  said 
huskily.  "  I  have  found  life  almost  more  than  I  could 
carry  since,  Philip.'' 

Philip  read  the  note  and  then  returned  it  to  Millard. 

"  That's  some  of  her  confounded  scruples,"  he  said, 
"  She  told  me  that  she  had  ruined  your  life.  She  thinks 
you  wish  to  marry  her  from  pity,  and  she'd  rather  die 


4:14  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

like  a  brave  girl  than  consent  to  that.  But  she  loves  you 
and  nobody  else." 

"  I  wish  I  were  sure  of  it,"  said  Millard. 

Philip  sat  a  good  while  silent. 

"  Charley,  "  he  said,  "  the  end  I  have  in  view  justifies 
the  breach  of  confidence,  I  hope.  I  have  the  assurance  of 
her  feelings  toward  you  from  her  own  lips,  and  that  not 
many  hours  ago.  She  would  have  died  rather  than  tell 
me  had  she  thought  it  possible  I  would  tell  you.  And 
I  would  have  died  rather  than  betray  her  if  I  hadn't  be 
lieved  your  feelings  toward  her  unchanged." 

Saying  this  he  helped  himself  to  a  cigar  from  the 
tray  on  the  table  and  lighted  it,  and  then  rose  to  leave. 

"  What  can  I  do,  Philip  ?  I  seem  absolutely  shut  out 
from  making  any  further  advances  by  this  note,"  demand 
ed  Millard. 

"  You  mustn't  expect  any  further  aid  or  advice  from 
me.  I've  done  all  you  can  expect,"  said  Gouverneur. 
"  Good-by." 

And  without  shaking  hands  he  went  out  of  the  door 
into  the  main  hall.  Millard  followed  him  and,  as  they 
reached  the  elevator,  said  with  emotion  : 

"  Philip,  you  have  done  one  of  the  bravest  acts." 

"  Pshaw !  Charley,"  said  Philip,  half-peevishly  and 
looking  over  his  shoulder  at  his  companion  as  he  pressed 
the  button,  "  don't  put  any  heroics  on  it.  There  isn't 
enough  of  me  to  play  such  a  part.  Such  talk  makes  me 
feel  myself  more  ridiculous  than  ever." 


XL. 

THE  RESTORATION. 

How  many  scores  of  devices  for  securing  a  conversa 
tion  with  Phillida,  Millard  hit  upon  during  the  night  that 
followed  Gouverneur's  visit,  he  could  not  have  told.  He 
planned  letters  to  her  in  a  dozen  different  veins,  and  re 
jected  them  all.  He  thought  of  appealing  to  Mrs.  Cal- 
lender  once  more,  but  could  not  conceive  of  Mrs.  Callen- 
der's  overruling  Phillida.  His  mind  perpetually  reverted 
to  Agatha.  If  only  he  might  gain  her  cooperation  !  And 
yet  this  notion  of  securing  the  assistance  of  a  younger  sis 
ter  had  an  air  of  intrigue  that  he  did  not  like. 

About  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  there  was  hand 
ed  to  Mrs.  Callender  a  note  from  Millard  inclosing  an  un 
sealed  note  which  Mr.  Millard  desired  Mrs.  Callender  if 
she  saw  fit  to  hand  to  Miss  Agatha.  Mrs.  Callender 
gave  it  to  Agatha  without  opening  it. 

AGATHA  :  I  wrote  to  your  mother  the  other  day  beg 
ging  permission  to  call  on  your  sister,  and  received  a  reply 
expressing  Miss  Callender's  desire  to  avoid  an  interview. 
That  ought  to  have  put  an  end  to  my  hope  of  securing 
your  sister's  forgiveness,  and  for  a  while  it  did.  But  on 
reflection  I  am  led  to  believe  that  her  decision  was  based, 


4:16  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

not  on  a  lack  of  affection  for  me,  but  on  a  wrong  notion 
of  my  feeling  toward  her.  She  probably  believes  that  I 
am  actuated  by  gratitude  for  her  attention  to  my  relatives, 
or  by  pity  for  her  sufferings  as  an  invalid.  She  holds  cer 
tain  other  erroneous  notions  on  the  subject,  I  think.  I 
give  you  the  assurance  with  all  the  solemnity  possible  that 
my  devotion  to  her  is  greater  to-day  than  ever.  Her 
affection  is  absolutely  indispensable  to  my  happiness.  I 
will  undertake  to  convince  her  of  this  if  I  am  once  per 
mitted  to  speak  to  her  Now  if  you  think  that  she  would 
be  the  better  for  a  renewal  of  our  old  relations  will  you 
not  contrive  in  some  way  that  I  may  see  her  this  afternoon 
at  three  o'clock,  at  which  hour  I  shall  present  myself  at 
your  door  ? 

I  hope  your  mother  will  pardon  my  writing  to  you ; 
persuasion  exerted  by  a  sister  has  less  the  air  of  authority 
than  that  of  a  parent.  I  leave  you  to  show  this  letter  or 
not  at  your  own  discretion,  and  I  put  into  your  hands  my 
whole  future  welfare,  and  what  is  of  a  thousand  times 
greater  importance  in  your  eyes  and  in  mine,  Phillida's 
happiness.  Whatever  may  be  your  feelings  toward  me  I 
know  that  Phillida  can  count  on  your  entire  devotion  to 

her  interests, 

CHARLEY. 

The  only  thing  that  seemed  to  Millard  a  little  insincere 
about  this  rather  stiff  note  was  the  reason  assigned  for 
writing  to  Agatha.  Her  persuasions,  as  Millard  well  knew, 
did  not  have  less  of  authority  about  them  than  her  moth 
er's.  But  this  polite  insincerity  on  a  minor  point  he  had 


THE  RESTORATION. 

not  seen  how  to  avoid  in  a  letter  that  ought  to  be  shown 
to  Mrs.  Callender. 

Agatha  gave  her  mother  the  note  to  read,  telling  her, 
however,  in  advance  that  she  proposed  to  manage  the  case 
herself.  Mrs.  Callender  was  full  of  all  manner  of  anxieties 
at  having  so  difficult  a  matter  left  to  one  so  impetuous  as 
Agatha.  For  herself  she  could  not  see  just  what  was  to 
be  done,  and  two  or  three  times  she  endeavored  to  per 
suade  Agatha  to  let  her  consult  Phillida  about  it.  A  con 
sultation  with  Phillida  had  been  her  resort  in  difficulties 
ever  since  the  death  of  her  husband.  But  Agatha  re 
minded  her  that  Mr.  Millard  had  intrusted  the  matter  to 
her  own  keeping,  and  expressed  her  determination  not  to 
have  any  more  of  Phillida's  nonsense. 

Phillida  observed  that  Agatha  was  not  giving  as  much 
attention  to  preparations  for  the  journey  as  she  expected 
her  to.  Xor  could  Phillida  understand  why  the  parlor 
must  be  swept  again  before  their  departure,  seeing  it  would 
be  snowed  under  with  dust  when  they  got  back.  But 
Agatha  put  everything  in  perfect  order,  and  then  in 
sisted  on  dressing  her  sister  with  a  little  more  pains  than 
usual. 

"  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  Mrs.  Ililbrough  calls  this  after 
noon,"  said  the  young  hypocrite.  "  Besides  I  think  it  is 
good  for  an  invalid  to  be  dressed  up  a  little — just  a  little 
fixed  up.  It  makes  a  person  think  of  getting  well  and 
that  does  good,  you  know." 

Agatha  refrained  from  an  allusion  to  faith-cure  that 
rose  to  her  lips,  and  finding  that  Phillida  was  growing 
curious  she  turned  to  a  new  subject. 

27 


418  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"Did  mama  tell  you  what  Miss  Bowyer  says  about 
your  case,  Philly  ?  " 

«  No." 

u  Mrs.  Beswick  told  mama  that  she  had  it  from  Mr. 
Martin.  Miss  Bowyer  told  M r.  Martin  the  other  day  that 
she  knew  you  would  get  well  because  she  had  been  giving 
you  absent  treatment  without  }'our  knowledge  or  consent. 
Didn't  you  feel  her  pulling  you  into  harmony  with  the 
odylic  emanations  of  the  universe  ?  " 

Phillida  smiled  a  little  and  Agatha  insisted  on  helping 
her  to  creep  into  the  parlor.  She  said  she  could  not  pack 
the  trunk  with  Philly  looking  on.  But  when  she  got  her 
sister  into  the  parlor  she  did  not  seem  to  care  to  go  back 
to  the  trunks. 

The  door-bell  rang  at  three  and  Agatha  met  Charley 
in  the  hall. 

"  She  doesn't  know  a  word  of  your  coming,"  said 
Agatha  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  will  go  and  tell  her,  to  break 
the  shock,  and  then  bring  you  right  in." 

She  left  Millard  standing  by  the  hat  table  while  she 
went  in. 

"Phillida,  who  do  you  think  has  come  to  see  you? 
It's  Charley  Millard.  I  took  the  liberty  of  telling  him 
you'd  see  him  for  a  short  time." 

Then  she  added  in  a  whisper :  "  Poor  fellow,  he  seems 
to  feel  so  bad." 

Saying  this  she  set  a  chair  for  him,  and  without  giv 
ing  Phillida  time  to  recover  from  a  confused  rush  of 
thought  and  feeling  she  returned  to  the  hall  saying, 
"  Come  right  in,  Charley." 


THE  RESTORATION. 

To  take  oil  the  edge,  as  she  afterward  expressed  it,  she 
sat  for  three  minutes  with  them,  talking  chaff  with  Mil- 
lard,  and  when  she  had  set  the  conversation  going  about 
indifferent  things,  she  remembered  something  that  had  to 
be  done  in  the  kitchen,  and  was  instantly  gone  down 
stairs. 

The  conversation  ran  by  its  own  momentum  for  a  while 
after  Agatha's  departure,  and  then  it  flagged. 

"  You're  going  away,"  said  Millard  after  a  pause. 
"  Yes." 

"  I  know  it  is  rude  for  me  to  call  without  permission, 
but  I  couldn't  bear  that  you  should  leave  until  1  had 
asked  your  forgiveness  for  things  that  I  can  never  forgive 
myself  for." 

Phillida  looked  down  a  moment  in  agitation  and  then 
said,  "  I  have  nothing  to  forgive.  The  fault  was  all  on 
my  side.  I  have  been  very  foolish." 

"I  wouldn't  quarrel  with  you  for  the  world,"  said 
Millard,  "  but  the  fault  was  mine.  What  is  an  error  of 
judgment  in  a  person  of  your  noble  unselfishness  !  Fool 
that  I  was,  not  to  be  glad  to  bear  a  little  reproach  for 
such  a  person  as  you  are  !  " 

To  Phillida  the  world  suddenly  changed  color  while 
Charley  was  uttering  these  words.  His  affection  was  bet 
ter  manifested  by  what  he  had  just  said  than  if  he  had 
formally  declared  it.  But  the  fixed  notion  that  he  was 
moved  only  by  pity  could  not  be  vanquished  in  an  instant. 
"  Charley,"  she  said,  "  it  is  very  good  of  you  to  speak 
such  kind  words  to  me.  I  am  very  weak,  and  you  are 
very  good-hearted  to  wish  to  comfort  me." 


420  THE  FAITH  DOCTOR. 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken,  Phillida.  You  fancy  that  I 
am  disinterested.  I  tell  you  now  that  I  am  utterly  in 
love  with  you.  Without  you  I  don't  care  for  life.  I 
have  not  had  heart  for  any  pursuit  since  that  evening  on 
which  we  parted  on  account  of  my  folly.  But  if  you  tell 
me  that  you  have  ceased  to  care  for  me,  there  is  nothing 
for  me  but  to  go  and  make  the  best  of  things." 

Phillida  was  no  longer  heroic.  Her  sufferings,  her  mis 
takes,  her  physical  weakness,  and  the  yearning  of  her 
heart  for  Millard's  affection  were  fast  getting  the  better 
of  all  the  reasons  she  had  believed  so  conclusive  against 
the  restoration  of  their  engagement.  Nevertheless,  she 
found  strength  to  say  :  "  I  am  quite  unfit  to  be  your  wife. 
You  are  a  man  that  everybody  likes  and  you  enjoy  society, 
as  you  have  a  right  to."  Then  after  a  pause  and  an  evi 
dent  struggle  to  control  herself  she  proceeded  :  "  Do  you 
think  I  would  weight  you  down  with  a  wife  that  will 
always  be  remembered  for  the  follies  of  her  youth?" 

Phillida  did  not  see  how  Charley  could  answer  this, 
but  she  was  so  profoundly  touched  by  his  presence  that 
she  hoped  he  might  be  able  to  put  matters  in  a  different 
light.  When  she  had  finished  speaking  he  contracted  his 
brows  into  a  frown  for  a  moment.  Then  he  leaned  for 
ward  with  his  left  hand  open  on  one  knee  and  his  right 
hand  clinched  and  resting  on  the  other. 

"  I  know  I  gave  you  reason  to  think  I  was  cowardly," 
he  said ;  "  but  I  hope  I  am  a  braver  man  than  you  imag 
ine.  Now  if  anybody  should  ever  condemn  you  for  a  lit 
tle  chaff  in  a  great  granary  of  wheat  it  would  give  me 
pain  only  if  it  gave  you  pain.  Otherwise  it  would  give 


THE  RESTORATION.  421 

me  real  pleasure,  because  I  would  like  to  bear  it  in  such  a 
way  that  you'd  say  to  yourself,  '  Charley  is  a  braver  man 
than  I  ever  thought  him.'  r  Millard  had  risen  and  was 
standing  before  her  as  he  finished  speaking.  There  was  a 
pause  during  which  Phillida  looked  down  at  her  own 
hands  lying  in  her  lap. 

"  Now,  Phillida,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  ask  one  thing — 
"  Don't  ask  me  anything  just  now,  Charley,"  she  said 
in  a  broken  voice  full  of  entreaty,  at  the  same  time  rais 
ing  her  eyes  to  his.  Then  she  reached  her  two  hands  up 
toward  him  and  he  came  and  knelt  at  her  side  while  she 
put  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  drew  him  to  her,  and 
whispered,  "  I  never  understood  you  before,  Charley.  I 
never  understood  you." 


XLI. 

AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 

THE  next  morning  Agatha  went  over  to  Washington 
Square  to  let  Philip  know  that  the  trip  southward  had 
been  postponed  for  a  week  or  so.  And  Philip  knew  that 
the  trip  southward  would  never  take  place  at  all,  but  that 
drives  with  Charley  in  Central  Park  would  prove  much 
better  for  the  invalid. 

"Oh,  yes,  it's  all  right  then.  I  expected  it,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Agatha,  "  it's  all  right.  I  managed  it 
myself,  Cousin  Philip.  I  brought  them  together." 

"Did  you,  Agatha?"  he  said  with  a  queer  smile. 
"  That  was  clever." 

"  Yes,  and  they  have  not  thanked  me  for  it.  Phillida 
wishes  to  see  you.  She  told  me  to  tell  you." 

"  I  don't  doubt  she  can  wait,"  said  Philip  smiling, 
"  seeing  me  is  not  important  to  her  just  now.  Give 
her  my  love  and  congratulations,  and  tell  her  I'll  come 
in  the  day  before  she  starts  to  Hampton.  There'll  be 
time  enough  before  she  gets  off,  Agatha."  This  last 
was  said  with  a  laugh  that  seemed  to  Agatha  almost 
happy. 

Phillida's  recovery  was  very  rapid ;  it  was  all  the  effect 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT.  423 

of  driving  in  the  Park.  Perhaps  also  the  near  anticipa 
tion  of  a  trip  to  Europe  had  something  to  do  with  it,  for 
Millar d  had  engaged  passage  on  the  Arcadia  the  first 
week  in  June.  To  Mrs.  Callender  this  seemed  too  early ; 
it  gave  the  mother  and  her  dressmaker  no  end  of  worry 
about  the  wardrobe. 

Two  weeks  after  her  reconciliation  with  Charley, 
Phillida  demonstrated  her  recovery  by  walking  alone 
to  her  aunt^s  in  Washington  Square.  She  asked  at  the 
door  to  see  Mr.  Philip,  and  when  she  learned  that  he 
was  in  his  book-room  she  sent  to  ask  if  she  mightn't 
come  up. 

"  Busy  with  my  catalogue,"  said  Philip  as  Phillida 
came  in.  He  had  been  busy  making  a  catalogue  of  his 
treasures  for  two  years,  but  he  could  not  get  one  to  suit 
him.  "  I  hate  to  print  this  till  I  get  a  complete  '  De 
Bry,'  and  that'll  be  many  a  year  to  come,  I'm  afraid.  I 
couldn't  afford  the  cost  of  a  complete  set  this  year  nor 
next,  and  it's  hardly  likely  that  there'll  be  one  for  sale  in 
ten  years  to  come.  But  it  will  give  me  something  to  look 
forward  to." 

All  this  he  said  hurriedly  as  though  to  prevent  her 
saying  something  else.  While  speaking  he  set  a  chair  for 
Phillida,  but  she  did  not  sit  down. 

"  Cousin  Philip,"  she  said,  "  you  might  just  as  well 
hear  what  I've  got  to  say  first  as  last." 

"Hear?  Oh,  I'm  all  attention,"  he  said,  "but  sit 
down,"  and  he  set  the  example,  Phillida  following  it  with 
hesitation. 

"  If  you  had  pulled  me  out  of  the  water,"  she  began, 


424  THE  FAITH   DOCTOR. 

"  and  saved  my  life,  you'd  expect  me  to  say  « thank  you,' 
at  least.  Charley  has  told  me  all  about  how  you  acted. 
We  think  you're  just  the  noblest  man  we  have  ever 
known." 

"Ah,  now,  Phillida,"  protested  Philip,  quite  bewil 
dered  for  want  of  a  lighted  cigar  to  relieve  his  embarrass 
ment,  "  you  make  me  feel  like  a  fool.  I'm  no  hero ;  it 
isn't  in  me  to  play  any  grand  parts.  I  shall  be  known, 
after  I'm  dead,  by  the  auction  catalogue  of  my  collection 
of  rare  books,  and  by  nothing  else.  '  The  Gouverneur 
Sale '  will  long  be  remembered  by  collectors.  That  sort 
of  distinction  fits  me.  But  you  and  Charley  are  making 
me  ridiculous  with  all  this  talk." 

"  Phil,  you  dear  fellow,"  said  Phillida,  passionately, 
rising  and  putting  her  hands  on  his  shoulder,  "  you 
saved  me  from  life-long  misery,  and  may  be  from  death, 
at  a  fearful  sacrifice  of  your  own  feelings.  I'll  remem 
ber  it  the  longest  day  I  live,"  and  she  leaned  over  and 
kissed  him,  and  then  turned  abruptly  away  to  go  down 
stairs. 

Philip  trembled  from  head  to  foot  as  he  rose  and  fol 
lowed  Phillida  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  trying  in  vain  to 
speak.  At  last  he  said  huskily  :  "  Phillida,  I  want  to  ex 
plain.  I  am  no  hero.  I  had  made  a  fool  of  myself  as  I 
knew  I  should  if  I  ever — ever  spoke  to  you  as  I  did  that 
day.  Now,  of  all  things  I  don't  like  to  be  ridiculous.  I 
thought  that  evening  if  I  could  be  the  means  of  bringing 
you  two  together  it  would  take  the  curse  off,  so  to  speak. 
I  mean  that  it  would  make  me  cut  a  less  ridiculous  figure 
than  I  did  and  restore  my  self-respect.  I  wanted  to  be 


AS   YOU  LIKE  IT.  425 

able  to  think  of  you  and  Charley  happy  together  without 
calling  myself  bad  names,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Phillida.  "  I  know.  You  never 
did  a  generous  thing  in  your  life  without  explaining  it 
away.  But  I  know  you  too  well  to  be  imposed  on.  I 
shall  always  say  to  myself,  c  There's  one  noble  and  disin 
terested  man  under  the  sky,  and  that's  my  brave  Cousin 
Philip.'  Good-by."  And  standing  on  the  first  step  down 
she  reached  him  her  hand  over  the  baluster  rail,  looked 
at  him  with  a  happy,  grateful  face  which  he  never  forgot, 
and  pressed  his  hand,  saying  again,  "  Good-by,  Philip," 
and  then  turned  and  went  down-stairs. 

And  Philip  went  back  and  shut  his  library  door  and 
locked  it,  and  was  vexed  with  himself  because  for  half  an 
hour  he  could  not  see  to  go  on  with  his  cataloguing. 
And  that  evening  his  mother  was  pleased  to  hear  him 
whistling  softly  an  air  from  the  "  Mikado  " — he  had  not 
whistled  before  in  weeks.  She  was  equally  surprised 
when  a  little  later  he  consented  to  act  as  Charley's 
best  man.  To  her  it  seemed  that  Philip  ought  to  feel 
as  though  he  were  a  kind  of  pall-bearer  at  his  own 
funeral.  But  he  was  quite  too  gay  for  a  pall-bearer. 
He  and  Agatha  had  no  end  of  fun  at  the  wedding; 
she  taking  to  herself  all  the  credit  for  having  brought  it 
about. 

In  the  middle  of  the  August  following,  Philip,  hav 
ing  come  to  town  from  Newport  to  attend  to  some  affairs, 
found  a  notice  from  the  custom-house  of  a  box  marked 
with  his  address.  He  hated  the  trouble  of  going  down 
town  to  get  it  out  of  the  hands  of  the  United  States. 


426  THE    FAITH  DOCTOR. 

But  when  it  was  opened  he  found  on  top  a  note  from 
Millard  explaining  that  he  and  Phillida  had  chanced 
upon  a  complete  set  of  "  De  Bry "  at  Quaritch's,  and 
that  they  thought  it  would  be  a  suitable  little  present 
for  their  best  friend. 

Philip  closed  the  box  and  took  it  to  Newport  with 
him.  He  explained  to  himself  that  he  did  this  in  order 
to  get  an  opinion  on  the  set  from  two  or  three  collectors 
whose  acquaintance  he  had  lately  made  in  lounging  about 
the  Eedwood  Library.  But  the  fact  was,  his  Newport 
season  would  have  been  ruined  had  he  left  the  volumes  in 
town.  The  books  were  spread  out  on  his  table,  where 
they  held  a  sort  of  levee  ;  every  book-fancier  in  all  New 
port  had  to  call  and  pay  his  respects  to  the  rare  volumes 
and  to  the  choice  English  bindings. 

"  A  nice  present  that,"  said  Philip's  father,  as  he 
sipped  his  champagne  at  dinner  on  the  day  after  the  son's 
return  with  the  books.  "  I've  been  looking  them  over ; 
they  must  have  cost,  binding  and  all,  a  hundred  dollars,  I 
should  think,  eh  ?  " 

"  More  than  that,"  said  Philip  with  a  smile. 

"  About  what  ?  "  demanded  his  father. 

"  Considering  that  the  set  includes  both  the  Great 
and  the  Little  Voyages,  it  couldn't  have  cost  less  than 
twenty  times  your  estimate,"  said  Philip. 

"  Millard  must  be  richer  than  I  supposed,"  said  the 
father.  "  A  man  ought  to  have  millions  to  make  presents 
on  that  scale." 

But  after  supper  when  Philip  and  his  mother  sat 
on  the  piazza  she  said :  "  I  never  could  tell  how  things 


AS  YOU   LIKE   IT.  427 

were  managed  between  Charley  Millard  and  Phillida. 
But  since  your  books  came  I  think  I  can  guess  who  did 
it." 

"  Guess  what  you  please,  mother,"  he  said,  "  I  did  im 
prove  my  opportunity  once  in  my  life." 


THE    EXD. 


T 


A 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 
'HE  FAITH  DOCTOR.     By  EDWARD  EGGLESTON, 

author  of  "The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster,"  "The  Circuit  Rider," 
etc.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"An  excellent  piece  of  work.  .  .  .  With  each  new  novel  the  author  of  'The 
Hoosier  Schoolmaster '  enlarges  his  audience,  and  surprises  old  friends  by  reserve  forces 
unsuspected.  Sterling  integrity  of  character  and  high  moral  motives  illuminate  Dr. 
Eggleston's  fiction,  and  assure  its  place  in  the  literature  of  America  which  is  to  stand 
as  a  worthy  reflex  of  the  best  thoughts  of  this  age."— New  York  World. 

"One  of  the  novels  of  the  decade." — Rochester  Union  and  Advertiser. 

"  It  is  extremely  fortunate  that  the  fine  subject  indicated  in  the  title  should  have 
fallen  into  such  competent  hands."— Pittsburgh  Chronicle-Telegraph. 

"Much  skill  is  shown  by  the  author  in  making  these  'fads'  the  basis  of  a  rovel  of 
great  interest.  .  .  .  One  who  tries  to  keep  in  the  current  of  good  novel-reading  must 
certainly  find  time  to  read  '  The  Faith  Doctor.'  " — Buffalo  Commercial. 

"A  vivid  and  life-like  transcript  from  several  phases  of  society.  Devoid  of  literary 
affectation  and  pretense,  it  is  a  wholesome  American  novel,  well  worthy  of  the  popu 
larity  which  it  has  won." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

N     UTTER    FAILURE.       By    MIRIAM     COLES 
HARRIS,  author  of  "  Rutledge."     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"A  story  with  an  elaborate  plot,  worked  put  with  great  cleverness  and  with  the 
skill  of  an  experienced  artist  in  fiction.  The  interest  is  strong  and  at  times  very  dra 
matic.  .  .  .  Those  who  were  attracted  by  '  Rutledge'  will  give  hearty  welcome  to  this 
story,  and  find  it  fully  as  enjoyable  as  that  once  immensely  popular  novel." — Boston 
Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"The  pathos  of  this  tale  is  profound,  the  movement  highly  dramatic,  the  moral 
elevating." — Neiu  York  World. 

"  In  this  new  story  the  author  has  done  some  of  the  best  work  that  she  has  ever 
given  to  the  public,  and  it  will  easily  class  among  the  most  meritorious  and  most 
original  novels  of  the  year." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  The  author  of  '  Rutledge'  does  not  often  send  out  a  new  volume,  but  when  she 
does  it  is  always  a  literary  event.  .  .  .  Her  previous  books  were  sketchy  and  slight 
when  compared  with  the  finished  and  trained  power  evidenced  in  'An  Utter  Failure.'  " 
— New  Haven  Palladium. 

/J  PURITAN  PAGAN.  By  JULIEN  GORDON,  au- 
-*—*  thor  of  "A  Diplomat's  Diary,"  etc.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer  Cruger  grows  stronger  as  she  writes.  .  .  .  The  lines  in  her 
story  are  boldly  and  vigorously  etched." — New  York  'limes. 

"The  author's  recent  books  have  made  for  her  a  secure  place  in  current  literature, 
where  she  can  stand  fast.  .  .  .  Her  latest  production, 'A  Puritan  Pagan,' is  an  eminent 
ly  clever  story,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word  clever." — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

"  Has  already  made  its  mark  as  a  popular  story,  and  will  have  an  abundance  of 
readers.  ...  It  contains  some  useful  lessons  that  will  repay  the  thoughtful  study  of 
persons  of  both  sexes." — New  York  Journal  of  Commerce. 

"This  brilliant  novel  will,  without  doubt,  add  to  the  repute  of  the  writer  who 
chooses  to  be  known  as  Julien  Gordon.  .  .  .  The  ethical  purpose  of  the  author  is  kept 
fully  in  evidence  through  a  series  of  intensely  interesting  situations." — Boston  Beacon. 

"  It  is  obvious  that  the  author  is  thoroughly  at  home  in  illustrating  the  manner  and 
the  sentiment  of  the  best  society  of  both  America  and  Europe." — Chicago  Times. 


New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  I,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


RECENT  ISSUES  IN  APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY. 


T 


'HE  THREE  MISS  KINGS.  By  ADA  CAM 
BRIDGE,  author  of  "My  Guardian."  I2mo.  Paper,  50  cents; 
cloth,  75  cents. 

"  May  unreservedly  be  recommended  as  one  of  the  choice  stories  of  the  season, 
bright,  refined,  graceful,  thoughtful,  and  interesting  from  the  first  to  the  final  page." — 
Boston  Literary  World. 


A 


MATTER    OF   SKILL.     By  BEATRICE  WHITBY, 

author  of  "  The  Awakening  of  Mary  Fenwick  "  and  "  Part  of 
the  Property."     I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  A  pretty  love-story,  told  in  a  gracefully  piquant  manner,  and  with  a  frank  fresh 
ness  of  style  that  makes  it  very  attractive  in  the  reading.  It  is  uncommonly  well 
written." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"The  story  is  charmingly  told,  and  is  very  readable." — Literary  World. 


M 


AID  MARIAN,  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 
By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL,  author  of  "  Throckmorton  "  and 
"  Little  Jarvis."  I2mo.  Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"There  is  an  unmistakable  cleverness  in  this  collection  of  short  stories."— Boston 
Literary  World. 

"  Miss  Seawell  has  a  brisk  and  prolific  fancy,  and  a  turn  for  the  odd  and  fantastic, 
while  she  is  Past  Master  in  the  use  of  negro  dialect  and  the  production  of  tales  of 
plantation  life  and  manners.  All  these  stories  are  spirited,  well  marked  by  local  color, 
and  written  with  skill  and  ingenuity." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  Miss  Seawell  writes  capital  stories,  and  in  a  special  way  nothing  of  late  has  been 
done  better  nor  more  daintily  than  '  Maid  Marian.'  "—New  York  Times. 

'E  WOMAN'S  WA  Y.     By  EDMUND  PENDLETON, 

author  of  "  A  Conventional  Bohemian,"  "  A  Virginia  Inherit 
ance,"  etc.  I2mo.  Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"The  author  is  a  Virginian  who  has  \\ritten  some  interesting  stories,  and  who 
steadily  improves  upon  himself.  .  .  .  This  is  a  thoughtful,  semi-philosophical  story. 
There  is  much  discussion  in  it,  but  none  of  it  is  prosy." — New  York  Herald. 

"In  this  genuinely  interesting  novel  the  author  depicts  one  of  the  most  charming 
characters  to  be  found  in  the  vast  range  of  woman's  realm.  .  .  .  The  close  is  artistically 


devised  and  shows  a  deep  observation.     Mr.  Pendleton  has  a  brilliant  future  before  him 
his  chosen  path." — St.  Louis  Republic. 


in  hit 


A 


MERCIFUL    DIVORCE.      By  F.  W.    MAUDE. 

I2mo.    Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  There  have  been  few  more  searching  studies  of  the  rampant  English  plutocracy 
than  is  afforded  by  this  brilliantly  written  volume." — Boston  Beacon. 

"  The  book  is  curiously  interesting  from  the  startling  side-light  it  throws  on  English 
society  of  the  upper  grades." — Chicago  J^imes. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,   I,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  £  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


"  This  work  marks  an  epoch  in  the  history-writing 
of  this  country." — St.  L.OUIS  Post-Dispatch. 


COLONIAL    COURT-HOUSE. 
PHILADELPHIA,   1707. 


HOUSEHOLD  HIS 
TORY  OF  THE  UNITED 
STA  TES  AND  ITS  PEOPLE. 
FOR  YOUNG  AMERICANS.  By  ED 
WARD  EGGLESTON.  Richly  illus 
trated  with  350  Drawings,  75  Maps, 
etc.  Square  Svo.  Cloth,  $2.50. 

FROM  THE  PREFACE. 
The  present  work  is  meant,  in  the  first  instance,  for  the  young;—  not  alone 
for  boys  and  girls,  but  for  young;  men  and  women  who  have  yet  to  make 
themselves  familiar  with  the  more  important  features  of  their  country's 
history.  By  a  book  for  the  young"  is  meant  one  in  which  the  author  studies  to 
make  his  statements  clear  and  explicit,  in  which  curious  and  picturesque  de 
tails  are  inserted,  and  in  which  the  writer  does  not  neglect  such  anecdotes  as 
Jend  the  charm  of  a  human  and  personal  interest  to  the  broader  facts  of  the 
nation's  story.  That  history  is  often  tiresome  to  the  young  is  not  so  much 
the  fault  of  history  as  of  a  false  method  of  writing-  by  which  one  contrives 
to  relate  events  without  sympathy  or  imagination,  without  narrative  connec 
tion  or  animation.  The  attempt  to  master  vague  and  general  records  of 
kiln-dried  facts  is  certain  to  beget  in  the  ordinary  reader  a  repulsion  from 
the  study  of  history — one  of  the  very  most  important  of  all  studies  for  its 
widening  influence  on  general  culture. 


"Fills  a  decided  gap  which  has  existed  for 
the  past  twenty  years  in  American  historical 
literature.  The  work  is  admirably  planned 
and  executed,  and  will  at  once  tike  its  place  as 
a  standard  record  of  the  life,  growth,  and  de 
velopment  of  the  na'ion.  It  is  profusely  and 
beautifully  illustrated." — Boston  Transcript, 

"  The  book  in  its  new  dress  makes  a  much 
finer  appearance  than 
before,  and  will  \tc  wel 
comed  by  older  readers 

as  gladly  as  its  prcdcccs-  INDIAN'S   TRAP. 

sor  was  greeted  by  girls 

and  boys.  The  lavish  use  the  publishers  have  made  of  colored 
plates,  woodcuts,  and  photographic  reproductions,  gives  an  un 
wonted  piquancy  to  the  printed  page,  catching  the  eye  as  surely 
as  the  text  engages  the  mind."— Ne-w  York  Critic. 

"The  author  writes  history  as  a  story.  It  can  'never  be 
less  than  that.  The  book  will  enlist  the  interest  of  young 
people,  enlighten  their  understanding,  and  by  the  glow  of  its 
statements  fix  the  great  events  of  the  country  firmly  in  the 
mind." — San  Francisco  Bulletin. 


New  York:    D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,   i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

^TOURMALIN'S      TIME     CHEQUES.       By  F. 

•»       ANSTEY,  author  of  "Vice  Versa,"  "  The  Giant's  Robe,"  etc. 

"  Mr.  Anstey  has  done  nothing  more  original  or  fantastic  with  more  success. " — 
The  Nation. 

"A  curious  conceit  and  very  entertaining  story."— Boston  Advertiser. 

"  Each  cheque  is  good  for  several  laughs," — New  York  Herald. 

"Nothing  could  be  more  sprightly  and  amusingly  whimsical." — Boston  Courier. 

"A  very  clever  tale  of  fantastic  humor.  .  .  .  The  literary  style  is  graceful  and 
sparkling." — Chicago  7~itnes. 

"  Certainly  one  of  the  most  diverting  books  of  the  season." — Brooklyn  Times. 

"Exquisitely  printed  and  bound." — Philadelphia  Times. 

ROM     SHADOW    TO     SUNLIGHT.     By    the 
MARQUIS  OF  LORNE. 

"  In  these  days  of  princely  criticism — that  is  to  say,  criticism  of  princes — it  is  re 
freshing  to  meet  a  really  good  bit  of  aristocratic  literary  work,  albeit  the  author  ij  only 
a  prince- in-law.  .  .  .  The  theme  chosen  by  the  Marquis  makes  his  story  attractive  to 
Americans. " — Chicago  Tribune. 

"A  charming  book." — Cincinnati  Enquirer. 

ADOPTING    AN   ABANDONED    FARM.     By 
KATE  SANBORN. 


F 


"A  sunny,  pungent,  humorous  sketch." — Chicago  Titties. 

"A  laughable  picture  of  the  grievous  experiences  of  a  young  woman  who  sought    / 
to  demonstrate  the  idea  that  a  woman  can  fa«m.  .  .  .   The  diakes  refused  to  lay;  the/ 
vegetables  refused  to  come  up;    and  the  taxes  would  not  go  down." — Minneajolis 
Tribune.  '  *** 

"The  book  is  dainty  in  exterior  as  well  as  rich  within;  and  to  those  who  seek 
health,  moral  and  physical,  we  say,  '  Buy  it.'  " — Montreal  Gazette. 

"  If  any  one  wants  an  hour's  entertainment  for  a  warm  sunny  day  on  the  piazza, 
or  a  cold  wet  day  by  the  log-fire,  this  is  the  book  that  will  furnish  it." — JVV«»  York 
Observer. 

"  Many  is  the  good  laugh  the  reader  will  have  over  its  pages." — Philadelphia 
Ledger. 


o 


THE  LAKE  OF  LUCERNE,  and  other  Stories. 
By  BEATRICE  WHITBY,  author  of  "  A  Matter  of  Skill,"  "  The 
Awakening  of  Mary  Femvick,"  etc. 

"  Six  short  stories  carefully  and  conscientiously  finished,  and  told  with  the  graceful 
ease  of  the  practiced  raconteur." — Literary  Digest. 

"  The  stories  are  pleasantly  told  in  light  and  delicate  vein,  and  are  sure  to  be  ac 
ceptable  to  the  friends  Miss  Whitby  has  already  made  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic." — 
Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"Very  dainty,  not  only  in  mechanical  workmanship  but  in  matter  and  manner." — 
Boston  Advertiser. 

Each,  i6mo,  half  cloth,  with  specially  designed  cover,  50  cents. 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  I,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


